The Capitol Games
by VividlyVisceral
Summary: This Quarter Quell will be the most difficult. They're the tributes who, never in a million years, thought that they would fight in the Hunger Games. Why? Because these are the Capitol's children being reaped this time, and this shall be quite the show...
1. The Fifth Quarter Quell

**A Vivid Note: **Hello and welcome to '_the Capitol Games_'! For those of you who are thinking 'wait, I don't remember you asking for tributes-?' that's because I did so discreetly via PM in order to keep this a surprise... and to keep this all neat and tidy in terms of reviews, chapters and Terms of Service. Remember friends, breaking guidelines isn't cool, ahahaha.

A big thanks to everyone who gave me permission to use their gorgeous Capitol tributes, and I do hope you enjoy watching their lives unfold (and unravel) through my writing. I can only hope I do your effort justice.

Ah, and bear in mind- this _is _an alternate universe of the Hunger Games. All of the characters existed but... well I tweaked a bit with Suzanne Collin's books in order to weave my own tale. However I don't want to waste the explanation here, because that would be destroying a perfectly good AU plot point. Also this chapter will introduce no tributes, only the necessary back-story. I'll start posting the 'reapings' soon in order to get to the 'good stuff'.

So, shall we? We have a lot of chapters to barrel through before we get to our glorious games... believe me; I've prepared a _SPECTACULAR_ show for you darling readers.  
Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Idola Flickerman; 24 years; Capitol Centre._

I've watched years of my grandfather's tapes in preparation of tonight. Every single wild haircut, booming laugh and twinkling smile he ever flounced and flashed on stage is now embedded deep in my memory, like the man himself is sitting upon my shoulder- showing me how to shine just as brightly as he once did.

Of course in reality he's dead, _quite _dead, and the only thing nudging against my shoulder is my bubbling assistant Timoleon- pressing the warm paper cup of coffee against my temple. Looking up, I feel a small sense of relief when I see his sparkling amber eyes.

"Five minutes Idola," He trills gleefully. I smile back and take the cup from his hand. It's nice and warm against in my cold fingers. "-anything you need? Aspirin? A quick nip of something for nerves?"

"I wouldn't say no to the... _quick_ nip," I laugh in spite of the tug of nerves currently ailing me. "Then uh- maybe you could run through this script with me?"

"That won't be a problem sweetie,"

Timoleon smiles and gives me a little Caesar-like wink before hurrying off again. In his absence I do my best to fight back the impending stage fright by looking at myself in the mirror and doing my best 'Quarter Quell' smiles, throwing in the occasional wink and fake laughter I had been practicing over and over again for the last fortnight.

Usually they'd never give a job this big to someone with such little experience, the board of Hunger Games organizers, but it was short notice and I was already a crowd favorite because of my lineage. I mean, how much better did it get really; having the _granddaughter _of Capitol beloved host 'Caesar Flickerman' host the fifth Quarter Quell?  
He was retired by the time I was born, but he was always the pinnacle every talk show host in the Capitol aspired to be like- and I was no different. Yeah, okay- I had one leg up on the rest by sharing his last name- but that was really all I had.

Idola Flickerman and Caesar Flickerman... I don't know what else the two of us share in common. I mean, I don't even know his real hair or eye color- he kept changing them all the time after all. Now it's hypocritical to judge that, after all I dye my hair frequently too- but my eyes have always been this color brown. Underneath all those contact lenses of his- were his brown too?

Dear Timoleon is back all too quickly with the comical little bottle of tequila- which I down in two gulps. I'm thankful he came back so quickly- because I was on the verge of getting emotional again- which, for the sake of my make-up stylist, would have been absolutely _terrible_.

"You look great sweetie," I exhale deeply as Timoleon pats down the vibrant orange hair tied up in elaborate plaits and then coiled into a bun. I've never done my own hair, so I don't know how they get that flared look around the knot. "Okay, so the script?"

"Yes!" I almost forgot. Rustling about in my lap I pull out the short list of points. "First I introduce myself, and then there are the interviews, then... um..."

"The reel." Timoleon reminds me curtly, his grin twinkling. "The highlight reel."

"Right, the highlight reel..." I'm already becoming breathless. I forgot that I had to do so much... "Then I wind down the audience with the Treaty of Reconciliation... and then it's up to the President to finish the night..."

"That's it sweetie." Timoleon wraps his arms around my shoulders from behind- giving me a tight, reassuring squeeze as he rests his chin on my head. "You've got this in the bag."

"Yeah..." I try to smile at our reflection, but my stomach gurgles loudly instead. "Ooh... that nip isn't sitting well."

"Don't worry; it's just working its magic." But Timoleon's smile in the reflection fades. "Okay Idola, we're going to have to get going."

"Wow... already...?" My bundle of nerves has been replaced by a light sensation of flurrying butterflies. "...Okay... okay I can do this. I can do this right? Timoleon-?"

"Yes, yes you can!" Timoleon pulls me up by my arms and pats me on both cheeks, rubbing his hand's warmth into them. "Now you get up there and make that grand pappy of yours _proud_."

"Yeah... yeah!" I want to sound assertive, but my voice sounds strangled. I confirm that my microphone is pinned properly to my dress front and nod reassuringly. "I can do this! This Quarter Quell is going to be the best damn Quell ever!"

"That's the spirit-!" Timoleon laughs.

Taking his hand in mine, my friend pulls me away from the chair and towards the doorway, smiling eagerly as we cross the threshold into the hallway.

"The best damn Quell- _ever_!"

* * *

Here on the stage I'm blinded by the lights. At first it's hard not to be completely overwhelmed by the sheer number of TV camera crews all directing their attention and lenses at me, but with a healthy combination of glancing at Timoleon for comfort and flashing my pearly whites whenever I begin feel anxious- I manage to make my way through my intro and each of the interviews with aplomb. Already I can feel Caesar's energy coursing through me with every cheer, laugh and cry from the audience.

-but I haven't made it through the woods just yet. Though my guest chair is finally empty of interviewees and I am ultimately left alone on the stage- the huge screen begins to unroll above me as they prepare the highlight reel. My butterflies have long since disappeared, but the feeling of anticipation in the audience is almost thick enough to taste up here.

"-and now," my voice chirps out, amplified throughout the Capitol centre. "As a quick reminder of the glory of the Games, let's cast our eyes back- _all- the- way- BACK, _as we watch how our favorite game came to this very Quell!"

Okay, shoddy paraphrasing there Idola- but the crowd laps it right up, cheering like maniacs as each of the street lights dims, one by one, until nothing is left shining but the white of the master screen. I'm quickly guided from my place on stage to where Timoleon and the other high ranking media stars are seated as the title credits begin to roll. I shift slightly in my seat, my chest feeling tight as for the few seconds before the reel begins.

First the words '_The Hunger Games_' fade into black, before the reel sparks to life with a pair of unknown blue eyes snapping open. All too quickly the very first Hunger Games- which is still one of the many classic favorites- flashes past. Because this is the highlight reel of _124 _games- they only show the deaths and triumphs. A girl explodes upon her plate, another chokes out a mouthful of blood- each disappearing before their obscure faces can even be properly recognized.

I can recognize tiny snippets of different games, even though I've only watched the early ones on television specials. The fourth Hunger Games with the monstrous Dante roaring over his fallen ally, hand dripping with blood. The ninth with frail little Glow collapsing, exhausted, into the snow. Then there are the ones I don't recognize, and I'm sure could only be by seriously hardcore fans- like the dark skinned boy clawing his eyes right out, and the teenage girl screaming as the spear flies straight through her shoulder.

My stomach is gurgling again by the time we get to the games anyone can recognize- starting with the second Quarter Quell. I visited that arena as a girl- with its pristine meadows and sparkling waters. It's everyone's favorite arena. But on the reel all you see is the eyeball fall from its bloodied thread from the District 1 girl's socket- as the winner Haymitch Abernathy begins to gurgle like my stomach as he tries to hold his guts in with his shaking hands.

I feel a bit queasy. Timoleon looks at me with a worried expression but I shake my head; silently telling him that I'm okay and to keep watching.

I don't feel okay though. I'm usually okay with the games, but these have been so artfully put together- with the fast paced, action music and the screams of the dying tributes overlapped- it's not like any highlight reel I've seen before. It's much more intense.

It's starting to get to everyone's favorites now, or at least the years when the Hunger Games started to become a cult favorite. There's Johanna raising her axe. Finnick readying the spear- they're drawing closer to the games that everyone's waiting for-

My heart leaps into my throat when I recognize the camera angle of Katniss and Peeta holding the infamous berries. I'm surprised they're showing it, knowing what it had once meant to the Capitol. But no- they're going to show it in all its horrific imagery apparently. The lovers ready themselves- and Peeta raises the berry to his lips and-

"-_Ahh!_"

-then it's gone. All too soon and they've flitted onto the third Quarter Quell- and my stomach rumbles in what sounds like fury. I can hear the moans of disappointment in the crowd for skipping what was undoubtedly a pinnacle in their favorite moments. While it's not a surprise, it is a little unsatisfying. It was such a great shot...

The pace has quickened. More deaths, faster and faster than before. The fourth Quell almost slashes by as more tributes howl in despair, as more roar in triumph, as more throats split open by the blades' edges, and an almost endless chorus of mines exploding; claiming the most unlucky.

It's the recent games. I'm vaguely aware of the sounds of the Victors seated far behind us. District 2's Mars heaves and up at the sky, bloodied and tired. Sienna Moreno watches in terror as her poison takes effect on her captors. A bear roars as Dalton stares down at his final competitor. Lightning flashes as Antony Cross screams in hysterical laughter up over the corpse heap.

Faster. Faster. It begins to flash and flicker in such a way that all the victors and all the victims begin to blend together into one screaming, dizzying blare.

Dizzying. It's all so dizzying. I feel ill, nauseous- definitely not okay. Suddenly I'm wheezing and holding my stomach as everything starts to get very hazy. Timoleon's hands grab onto my shoulders but I can't feel them. I don't even have the strength to lift my head to watch the screen as the piercing shrieks of so many dead tributes rip apart my brain.

"-Idola? Idola-!"

The noise fades away. Everything fades away in the final dizzying blur of shrieks, blades and roars as I'm blinded by the exhaustion.

* * *

...waking up. I can taste my lipstick in my mouth. My eyes feel heavy from the make-up that has lightly glued my lids together. My back aches and my legs are cold from the lack of a blanket. I weakly sit up in the bright light of the preparation room- still taking in my surroundings.

What had happened? I gently rub the mascara from the corners of my eyes as I try and think. Had I collapsed in the middle of my show? No... No I remember doing my part... Each interview had been done... I'd fallen down after that... oh my god; I fell down in the highlight reel? Oh god- why did I fall down?

My career is over and it only just started! No one is going to hire a woman to present the Hunger Games when she can't stay upright for a _ten minute_ highlight reel! What would she do after each of the games when they show the entire games in a _three hour _reel? Oh my god... oh my god...

I need my Timoleon. Heck, I need more nips. Frantic and still quite in a daze, I kick off my high heels and roll out of the armchair- running down the hallway to where the pre-staging area was. The show was bound to be over by now, judging on how long I had slept. This was where everyone would be- where everyone _must be_-

My hair has come undone, waves of orange fly out behind me as I burst through the door. I'm fully expecting to embarrass myself further, but I don't care. I need my happy Timoleon to tell me there's still hope for my career. That I didn't just screw up the _only_ thing I've ever dreamed of-

But as I skid to a stop and gasp for breath- I find the room is empty.

The buffet lies cold and untouched, which usually by this time would be all but massacred by the heartier patrons. The floor is spotless and unmarked- meaning that there was absolutely no dancing here. Not a shred of life is anywhere. I stammer quietly as I gingerly inspect a chair with my hand. The plastic is ice cold.

No one has come here yet.

I saw the time on the clock in the hallway. It had said it was almost twenty past two. I know it's early in the morning, but the parties here rage on until well into the next afternoon- and this was the fifth Quarter Quell. They had been talking about this party going on for _days_.

So why...? Why has no one come yet?

I stumble back to the room I had been placed in to recover, collapsing back into the cold embrace of the armchair. Staring at my glum reflection in the mirror just makes me more depressed, so I turn the chair away from it. If there was a TV or something in here I'd happily watch that- even though my _stupid _fainting spell would definitely be all over the gossip channels by now.

I'm not like my grandfather at all. Tears begin to form in the corners of my eyes as I imagine what he would say to me now. Would he laugh and shake my shoulders like he had done to all those distressed tributes? Or would this be different- and he'd tell me off for being so stupid... so pitiable... so delusional to ever think... I could be like him...

I don't know him. How can I be at all like a man I don't even know? I rub my eyes furiously- not caring at all about the make-up anymore. I've blown my chance to ever be like him. I'm a disgrace of a TV presenter.

"...Idola..."

Timoleon's voice comes as a shock. I've never wanted him to see me cry, but I'm too surprised to cover my mascara stained cheeks. As the tweedy guy I'd depended on so long slowly walked towards me, I can't help but notice that all the color has rushed from his face. His green star tattoos stick out like thorns against the stunned white canvass of his skin.

"...did you... did you hear...?"

His voice breaks. I swallow as a sob comes up to hurt me.

I knew it. My career is over. That's why he looks so devastated. He's been my best friend in this business and my new role has already ended. I try to smile, but the corners keep twitching downward.

"I-I'm fired aren't I?" My voice is but a hushed whisper. "They... they can't have someone who faints... oh god... T-Timoleon..."

-But Timoleon backs away as I reach out to clasp onto his arm, and surprise takes me again when he starts to slowly shake his head. I let my arms fall back to my sides as the tears slow and my mouth hangs open a little in confusion.

"...T-Then what...?" I don't understand. Timoleon looks as if he is about to cry. "Why are you... what happened...? Did...?"

My friend puts his hands to his face and sinks to the floor, resting his forehead upon his knees. Suddenly a new wave of dread washes over me as I realize that something else has happened. Something completely different.

"...why... why are you crying...?"

I slide out of my chair and onto my knees beside him. Timoleon starts to rock a little as I reach forwards and gently touch his arm. Without fighting against me he lets out a sob and hugs me tightly, freely crying against my dress- not caring about the make-up stains we had previously fought so hard against.

"Id-Idola... they're going to take Capitol... Capitol..." Timoleon stares up at me, his face red and puffy. "The Quell... the Quell says we have to send in... they're asking..."

Confusion fills me. Is the Quell the reason the party room is completely empty? The reason why no one waited with me? The reason why Timoleon is crying? Unconsciously, my grip tightens around my weeping friend's shoulders as he finally chokes out the sentence that has rocked the Capitol, and the sentence that I missed after my fainting spell.

"...this Quarter Quell... they're sending... they're... t-they're..."

I wait for it, but I'm completely unprepared for what's coming as Timoleon screams out what are the most unexpected words the Capitol has ever heard.

"-they're sending_ Capitol kids_!"

* * *

**Thank you for reading. Have a beautiful day you. xx**


	2. S1, Little Angel

**A Vivid Note: **thank you to those who reviewed the first chapter! I know how eager you are to meet your tributes. I've decided to give them all one whole chapter each for their reapings, because face it- some of them are going to die fairly quickly in the arena- and I want their creators to get to know their character before that. This is also why I'm writing approximately 4000 words... because you deserve proper updates.

This chapter we're introduced to the first of the tributes. I've divided them up into 'mock' Districts, which you'll learn more about as you read. This tribute was submitted by _Foreverdaydream_- and I will admit I had to tweak her character a bit because well... I don't think I could accept a character that could turn into a hydra or 'winged people'. So I made a compromise.

I hope you enjoy the reapings! Please review with some feedback because I have _never _done a story like this before and it'd be good to know if I'm not totally fudging it up.

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Liotta McKensie; 12 years; the Capitol Sector 1._

Since the reading of the card two nights ago, our house has been quieter than ever before. At this moment all I can hear from the solitude of my room is the scuffling of our wolfhound Barker downstairs. Now that I think about it, I don't think anyone has fed him for the last few days because of the Quarter Quell shock...

I sigh as I slide from the comfortably warm woolen sheets of my bed and into my slippers. Even though it's not that early- probably about nine o'clock- the hardwood floors are still freezing with cold. The heater has been broken for a week or so now- and Dad hasn't gotten around to calling the electrician.

Probably won't happen now, not with everyone panicking about their children getting reaped today. I'm actually a little surprised that I'm not more worried about getting picked myself- but I don't dwell on it long. What's the point?

Sure enough- Barker almost knocks me over when I open the kitchen door. I take a moment to quickly scratch him behind the ears before he bounds over to the fridge, wagging his tail desperately. I smile, yawn, and go about preparing his doggy breakfast.

Barker isn't even my dog; _my_ dog is Markie, who's only a puppy right now. Barker is supposed to belong to my brother Hughie- but he never feeds him. It's impossible to rely on my parents to feed the animals- what with Dad working all the time at the bakery and Mom being... well, Mom- so it's up to me to keep them alive.  
That's not to say Hughie's a bad dog owner. He still takes Barker out for runs and stuff, but ultimately it's me who fills up the water bowl and runs a brush through his fur.

As soon as I place the bowl upon the kitchen tiles Barker shoves his nose right into it and starts to hound it down. I whistle a little for Markie- but there's no telltale patter of paws to indicate he's coming, so I give up and head back up the stairs to my room.

Wrapped up in my dressing gown, I'm steadily getting warmer as I walk. Passing by my brother's room I see a little note is tacked up on his doorknob with the words 'back later' scrawled hastily on it- which can only mean that he's gone out to hang with his friends.  
Typical Hughie; crisis in the Capitol and he goes out like it's any other day. Can't say I blame him though, I mean- he's not up for reaping, he's nineteen. He escaped the Quell by a year, while I was caught by the exact same amount of time.

I'm probably the only one who's noticed he's gone out though. My parents are both out, and neither of them is that worried about their children at this stage. I'll never understand them; being divorced but still living together. I know this is the Capitol, but it's weird. That's all.

Back in my room I pull the curtains wide open to allow some sunlight to warm up the room. With a little shiver and a sigh, I flop backwards onto my bed and stare quietly out the window into the sky above.

I wonder who'll be chosen. Or whether or not Capitol kids will want to volunteer to compete... I mean, none of us have careers like they do in the Districts. We've _always _been the audience- never the tributes.  
They divided the city up into sectors for the reapings, twelve of them. My brother laughed when he learned that our house fell just inside 'Sector 1'. He kept nudging me during the television cast, asking me if I was ready to 'get my career on'.

I remember laughing at him, and tugging his hair to make him stop nudging me. Eventually my mother started crying about how unfair the Quell was- before collapsing on the couch and falling asleep. I found out later, by the vomit patch on the ground, that she had been drunk when she watched the television cast that night.

But what my brother had said made me think. I'm not a career, not in any sense of the word. I mean- for one, I'm _twelve _years old- and most careers are at least fourteen. Also I have no muscles, and I'm really quite... well, tiny. All my relatives call me 'little angel' rather than Liotta- because apparently I have this prance in my step.

I never noticed.

-the prance is hardly what defines the angel nickname though. If I had to pin it on anything- and I'm not really stretching far for this- it'd be the way my parents have _made_ me look. The golden ringlets that go to my ankles, the deep blue eyes- my Mom used to always fawn over me saying how I was her 'little golden angel'.  
Everyone else in my family has brown hair. I was genetically modified when my Mom was pregnant with me to have this color hair- which would upset me if I didn't sort of like it.

But there was one surgical alteration I didn't particularly like- and it was the one thing that was the hardest to change, and had been the most costly of all the surgical changes made to me when I was only a toddler.

And that would be the pair of snow white wings painfully implanted from the inside of my shoulder blades.

I'm not the only girl in school who has false wings, but I am one of the few who had gotten hers applied against her consent. I'd only been three when my Mother took me by the hand and helped me onto the gurney. I had no idea what was happening, I was too young. My Father had protested a little- but now he just says they make me look sweet, and that if I still hate them when I'm older I can get rid of them.

I do hate them now though- the way they make my hair tangle around them and how they only stick out awkwardly past my shoulders. If I was in the games they'd be nothing but a big, feathery hassle.

And that makes me think... I wonder what would happen if I was chosen?

I stretch out against the sheets of my bed, shutting my eyes tightly as I slip into the daydream. I can picture it now- standing upon the stage, my hair glinting in the sun as I look bashfully down at my shoes. Then a boy would be called up beside me- and the crowd would cheer.  
It's a pleasant daydream... until I remember what being chosen encompasses. Dying. I quickly busy myself by finding my hairbrush- pushing away the sudden images of huge hulking tributes raising axes, swords and blunt rocks to bludgeon me with.

The odds of me being chosen are minimal. I have my name in only once after all. There are thousands of other girls who live in this Sector- and there are thousands upon thousands of slips in that bowl- with names other than mine inside. I repeat this over and over to myself as I run the brush through my hair.  
My chances are good. I don't need to worry about getting called up and eventually bludgeoned to death... no. I just need to worry about stomaching these games like everyone else.

-the brush handle snags in my hair, sending a shooting pain through my roots.

"-Ow-!"

**

* * *

**

Seeing the entirety of our neighborhood cramming into one small street is oddly frightening. I take my place behind a roped off area clearly marked '**12's**' once my name is ticked off a gargantuan roster of names.

Everyone is here. From the tiniest of newborns to old men and women I thought had been dead. The tension is palpable- with parents already weeping and crying amongst themselves, and the less involved chattering darkly about 'odds' for gambling.

I stand here, dressed in my finest white silk dress- twitching a little from the uncomfortable way it falls on my wings. I hate having to buy clothes with the holes in the back. I usually like dressing up, but this feels degrading for some reason. But I stand here quietly, as our newly appointed Sector mayor ascends the steps of the rickety stage- feebly hushing for quiet.

"If everyone will be quiet- we're about to begin-"

The mayor is ignored. I stare at him quietly as the noise continues. Being quiet is better than the alternative- which is to find my parents in the crowd and look into their downcast, and in Mom's case, _drunk _faces. I don't know where Hughie is- since he wasn't home when we left. I can only guess that he's also out there in the crowd- hoping that I'm not picked either.

After a moment or two the anonymous mayor manages to generate enough quiet to begin the treaty of treason- which is customary to read when the Districts are reaping their children- but it makes no sense here. I'm still pretty young, but I'm not stupid. We're the Capitol- and the games were created to punish the districts. Not us, them.

After the treaty is read and tucked away on the podium, the escort woman from District 1 steps forward to take the mayor's place. I can't bear to look at her too long because she looks so conflicted. Like she doesn't know whether to smile and be cheery or join the rest of the adults in their pre-emptive mourning.  
Here she is, probably at the highest pinnacle her career could get- a District 1 escort... reaping kids from her home. All escorts are from the Capitol after all... at least, I _think_ they are. They certainly look like us- with the vibrant pink hair and colourful lipstick.

Apparently she's decided to go with cheery, because her twitchy frown is quickly plastered over with a very fake smile as she walks over to the table I had been ignoring; the one holding up the two glass bowls of names. With a wispy sort of voice I think is supposed to be positive she says-

"Best of luck to our female tribute-"

She dips her pink taloned hand into the glass ball. Without realising I clench my fist in the brief moment of panic. I watch, unable to think coherently as her thickly made up lips form the poor tragic name of-

"-Liotta McKensie!"

Something glass shatters in the crowd.

No.

The crowd of twelve year old girls begin to part.

No, this isn't right.

The entirety of Sector 1 looks upon me as the TV crews swivel about to catch the glimpse of the Capitol's first tribute.

My odds were in my favour. I had one slip.

Women are openly crying for a redraw. Someone behind me nudges me forwards, and I'm too dumbstruck to look and see who the insensitive person was. The group of girls around me are stumbling away as if I might catch fire with my misfortune.

"Come on up you little angel!"

I can hear a strangled moan from a woman who might be my mother. Shakily I walk- still barely able to comprehend what has just occurred. Liotta McKensie. Little Angel. I'm going to _die_.

"Let's have a hand for brave Liotta!"

I don't hear the applause because my brain has shut off. From my place on the stage I can see a pattering of hands applauding what they must mistake as bravery. I just stare out, desperately hoping- _wishing _that someone will volunteer.

"-do we have volunteers?" The escort cries out, lowering the microphone as she scans the audience. "Any female volunteers?"

Please. My tiny body begins to shake. As much as I've never encouraged judging people by appearances- but won't someone recognise that I'm a twelve year old girl? A twelve year old girl who's been sentenced to die for their entertainment?  
I'm on the verge of crying. My hope starts to shatter. Surely someone, someone wants to...?

"No volunteers-?" The escort asks again. "This is your last chance!"

Not a single girl moves. I can feel my wings jittering from my trembling. All eyes are on me- as if apologising for my sacrifice, for the unwillingness to volunteer, but their acceptance of my death.

"Sector 1, I present your female tribute for the Fifth Quarter Quell-!"

It's over.

No one volunteered.

I'm going to die.

Even as the focus shifts away from me as the Escort hurries over to the ball of male tributes- I can see people in the audience I hadn't noticed before still staring at me in desperation. My mother- who never really connected with Dad after the divorce- is weeping into his shoulder, a bottle lies broken at her high heels. Dad is biting down hard on his lower lip- trying to hold his gaze but having to look away from the tears in his eyes.

I start to cry. They already know that I'm dead. My parents can probably see the irony in giving me wings so pre-emptively now. Dad starts to shake his head at me as the tears begin to crawl down his worn cheeks.

No... Please no...

The male tribute is called. Jason Blackheath. I don't even look at him- instead keeping my gaze fixed on my parents. I know that I'll see them one more time before I'm carted away to my death- but my time is limited now. It's all starting to sink in, and my tears are starting to flow faster.

Though I don't look at him- I know from the shadow that is cast over me that Jason taller than I am. The sun that shone on the 'brave little angel Liotta' has already passed. I can hear a girl crying out his name in the audience- but my eyes fall instead to my shoes, hoping that the cameras don't catch me crying. I don't want my parents' last televised image of me at home to be of me crying.

"Let's give it up for Sector 1's tributes! Let's win this one for our neighborhood!"

There's a rippled cheer. I continue to hear a girl crying in the audience, my mother's sobs long lost. The pair of pink nails clasps around my shoulders- but I pull myself away. Looking up into the escort's face I can see the pity in her eyes that I've been chosen, but her voice is just as bluntly cheery as before.

"Come with us sweetie, we're doing the goodbyes in the Empire Hall."

I don't acknowledge her, or even nod. I just stare into her eyes- wondering if she can see that she single-handedly killed me by pulling my name from that bowl. That _she _was the one who reaped me- and not the Capitol- and how _she _should know how despicable that is as a career.

But she doesn't notice the intent of my stare, and all I receive back for it is a blissfully ignorant smile.

"Come on angel."

**

* * *

**

Mom's own tears make me cry even harder when I'm alone with them in the hall. There has been a flimsy tent-like structure made out of velvet curtains for Jason and me to say our goodbyes in. This means that there's virtually no privacy because everything that's said can be heard on both sides of the tent.

I do my best to ignore the choking sobs of what seems to be his girlfriend, but I don't really want to focus on my own goodbyes. The fact that they're happening makes me feel hollow inside. My father holds my hands in his and is whispering endless apologies for things I've long forgotten- while my mother sits on my right and wails.

Hughie hasn't shown up yet. Apparently he didn't show up to the reaping at all and he'll be getting some sort of fine for neglecting to be counted. Fines don't mean much here- so it's really just an expensive slap on the wrist for causing a miscount- but I still feel saddened. He's my brother, and I want to see him.

"The whole neighborhood is going to sponsor you Ottie," my Dad hushes. Ottie is a nickname only he uses. "Just you see- we'll be behind you every step of the way."

"Thank you." I breathe. My voice is sort of gone.

"W-We love you Liotta." My mother chokes. Her arms pull me into her chest as she sobs into my hair. "P-Please, don't forget that-"

I don't say anything. No, it's more like I _can't_ say anything. I sit there like a stone as Mom and Dad slowly run out of things to comfort me with- but as the Peacekeeper comes in telling them that their time is up I suddenly realise they're being taken away.

"-d-don't go!" I grasp for my Dad's hands, trying to pull him back as he steps out of the tent. "Please- I'm scared Dad-!"

Through the tears in my eyes, I watch as my father breaks. The Peacekeeper isn't heartless- and allows our broken family to hold each other for a few more minutes before he finally, and rather sadly, tells my parents that they really do have to leave.

"...we love you Liotta," Dad whispers. "We always will, no matter what."

"I love you too..." I manage to squeeze out. My chest feels tight. "P-Please... don't... don't..."

I don't know how to finish that sentence. My parents are ushered from the tent- and the long scraping noise tells me that they've been taken back onto the street. I stand there- unsure of what to do next.

I'm all alone.

-But the door scrapes open again- and my heart leaps as I hear footsteps come running. I push open the tent curtain and a gasp of surprise escapes me as Hughie pulls me up into his arms- sobbing.

For a few minutes, I forget everything that I'm worried about as my big brother holds me tight like he used to whenever things were rough. I bury my face into his shoulders and breathe in the smell of home.

"...I found Markie."

Hughie sits down with me still on his lap. He gently rests a hand on my hair and smiles the weakest smile I've ever seen. I say nothing, but the confusion on my face tells him to continue.

"...I didn't want to tell you, but I accidentally let him out yesterday..." He looks down at the ground, and I'm surprised to see my little puppy-dog staring blankly up at me from the carpet. "...but I found him and... I thought you'd like to see him before... before..."

I can tell how hard this is for him. My brother has spent his entire life worshiping the games as the greatest television show on the air. Suddenly he looks as if he's been slapped in the face with the cold hard reality that this is how so many other brothers have felt before him.

Without another word, Hughie scoops up Markie and hands him to me. With shaking hands I take him and raise him to my face- laughing weakly as he licks my nose fervently.

"...I'll... I'll take care of him."

I look at Hughie and lower Markie to my lap. He reaches back up and pats my hair for a moment before clenching his hand in what is meant to be a triumphant fist- only it's shaking too much for that.

"-u-until you get back..." I feel my heart break as my brother strains his grin. "Y-You're a McKensie, so y-you're gonna kick... you're gonna kick Hunger Games ass!"

I smile, but it's out of pain. All too soon my brother is told he has to leave, and then we're hugging again as the peacekeeper holds open the tent's flap.

"...see you soon Lili," Hughie pulls away, rubbing his damp eyes with his forearm. "I'll be rooting for ya'..."

"...thanks... love you Hughie..." I hand him back Markie- who immediately begins to pine the moment my hands leave his fur. "Shhh... d-don't worry boy..."

Before Hughie leaves I kiss him on the cheek goodbye as he's pulled from the room. The tents are silent as the flap falls closed once more- and all I can hear are the desperate barks of my dog as they disappear into the street outside- begging me not to leave.

I don't fight back anymore. With a shaky sigh I fall to the floor and begin to cry. I don't hold back the choking sobs that shake my frame as I piece together the one thing they all had in common. My Mother, my Father, my Brother- and even my dog...

They all know that I'm not coming home.

* * *

**Please take the time to tell me what you think! I appreciate the effort! :)**


	3. S1, Skyward Dreamer

**A Vivid Note: **thank you again to all who reviewed! I'd like to give an apology to those who prefer chapters to be short and precise (even though everyone who reviewed apparently didn't mind)- but I am in no way talented enough to keep things short and concise when so much ground needs to be covered.  
To qualm your fears however, I will continue to update as quickly as I can manage (_I'm trying for once a day- but we'll see how it goes_). I'm just as eager as you are to see these kids in action!

This tribute was submitted by _revbev353_, and I've really enjoyed writing this piece. He's an easy to like character- and I hope I can portray him the way I imagined him from revbev353's description.  
Let's say hello to our first male tribute!

I hope you're enjoying yourself. Again, remember to send some feedback so I know how it's all heading. Your input is (not so _unexpectedly_) quite important to me.  
Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Jason Blackheath; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 1._

I'm taken by surprise when I have to cover eyes from the blinding light of the morning sun. There aren't any clouds in the sky this morning, which is quite odd since the sky was practically drowning in them last night.

Amethyst would kill me if she knew I was out here again so early, especially since last time when I not only was sunburnt to the point of potential skin cancer- but also came down with a slight bout of hypothermia. She's a more like a mother than a girlfriend sometimes, but I still love her. She cares a lot about me.

Watching the sky... it's what I do when I'm bored, or I can't think straight. And right now I can't think straight at all. Without much thought about getting my clothes dirty- I squat down on the glittering, green grass- kicking off my shoes before letting myself fall back into the earth's sun warmed embrace.  
Nothing in our garden is natural. Not anymore at least. I remember when Mom would come out every day to water the beds filled with flowers. From the way she would whistle and smile while she worked- it was hard to tell that inside she was miserable.

The grass is soft against the back of my neck. It tickles a bit, and I can't help but smile as I place my arm over my eyes to see the pure blue of the sky better- without the hassle of the losing my corneas in the process.

I guess I'm a weird guy. Whenever I talk to my friends about these 'little things', like the soft touch of the grass, or the endless ocean of sky... they look at me like I'm speaking a whole other language. The only person who ever listened to me without changing the subject entirely was Amethyst.

I wish she was here now.

The sky is beautiful today, just as it was yesterday, and will be tomorrow- and every other day. But, something about it today is particularly inviting. What I wouldn't give to spend my day lying here- admiring the universe's handicraft.

...but of course, today is the one day I can't.

Dragging myself back inside is harder than it usually is. I'm not hungry, but I pour myself some cereal and manage to- slowly, eat it all. This is the first time I've forced _me_ to eat breakfast on a reaping day- but I promised my sisters, and Amethyst, that I'd eat this time. They all know how difficult for me it is to choke down food on these days- seeing as I always get the urge to vomit it right back up when I watch the names being pulled- but, sadly, as one of my dear sisters had said-

'_Today is different. You'll need your strength._'

It was true. I will need my strength. And for a very simple reason.

I hate the Hunger Games.

I didn't always hate them, but at first that was only because I didn't understand what was going on. So once a year the television would show twenty-four kids- some only a few years older than I was- parading about in funny outfits and then giving them scores for something. That was usually when I stopped watching. I'd get bored.

My parents never _forced _me to watch the games when the interviews were over- but they couldn't shelter me from them. It was impossible. The games were part of Capitol life- and they were always talked about, all the time. There was no escaping them.  
I finally realised about the age of seven what was going on- and after that day I would get really ill on the reaping day. My parents wouldn't make me watch the reapings after the third year of ruining the lounge room rug- but even when I didn't see them, I'd end up imagining them.

Little children taken away from their mothers, brothers taken from sisters, sons from their fathers... each of them would walk up those doomed wooden steps in my mind until I'd be sick. I couldn't help but picture the people I knew, the people _I _loved- forced up those steps into the noose known as the Hunger Games.  
Even now- little flashes capture my mind's eye. Amethyst, my sisters, my friends... It hurts when I think about it.

Back when my Mother was still around and I had these thoughts, she would wrap her arms around me and whisper reassurances that it was all okay, and- as terrible as the games were- at least it would never be me.

Yeah, thanks Mom. Thanks for saying that and then _leaving _your three children for another man, leaving _us_ with a father who never grew up. Who didn't know how to be a father. It was as if she had walked up those steps and left us behind in her wake without even dying.

The past few years I've managed to avoid eating on reaping day, so there was nothing to throw up- just a dank, queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. My sisters would keep their distance for the day- and let me calm myself in peace. That was how I discovered the little things, like the beauty of the grass and the sky- through that peace.

-But there would be no withdrawing myself from the world today. I wouldn't be able to stare at the sky to try and forget the Games. No. I let the spoon clatter into the bowl of breakfast dregs before sinking my fingers through my hair.

This year was different.

This year... _we_ were being reaped.

The reading of the card rocked our house. Even Dad, crazy- green haired Dad with the abundance of earrings... even he was stunned when the President read the lines '-_the male and female tributes will be reaped from the Capitol itself_'. We all were. My twin sisters- my poor sisters- they couldn't stop crying.  
I didn't speak. I didn't do anything. In fact, I don't remember anything except that I woke up on the lawn with my face all wet. Whether or not it was from crying, I can't really recall.

All of us are eligible. My sisters, my girlfriend... even me. I don't know why- but I'm not worried about my name being called. But I'm terrified of them being reaped. My odds are alright- but then again, everyone's is. No one in our newly formed 'Sector' needs tessarae, so the only people in danger are those who are on the latter end of the age scale... which, sadly- includes me and Amethyst.

I abandon the empty bowl of cereal and head back to my room on the other side of the house. My room is barely slept in- since I usually fall asleep outside or in the lounge room- so it's really only my room in name. I don't need to lay down- so instead of the bed; I turn to my desk drawers.

What would I do if Amethyst was reaped...? My fingers tremble slightly at the mere thought while I open up the drawer. Years of sketches stare back at me. I pull out a stack of paper and sit back on my heels as I thumb through them.  
I think I've gotten better. It's hard to tell right now when my mind is wandering everywhere. Most of my works are of the Capitol- because it's hard to find pure nature here anymore. It's better to find beauty in the falsities of day to day life. Easier.

Amethyst always liked my stuff. Back when we weren't dating and we were just classmates- she'd shyly peer over from her friends desks and say things like '_Isn't Jason good?_'- Which I would hear and pretend to ignore, even though it did make me feel good to know she thought so. And here it is. I pull out the only laminated stack in the whole bundle. It's cold in my hands-but the picture is as bright as when I first sketched it.

It's of us. Her friend took a picture of us on a school trip to the Capitol Centre- and sent it to me the next week. I didn't tell Amethyst at the time when I redid it in pastels, out of fear that I'd get rejected. I hadn't ever drawn people before then- or after then actually.

She found it though, of course, when my sister invited her over to 'hang out'. It was all a ruse- my sisters both wanted to play match maker- but I must say that because of the end result- I don't mind. It all ended up quite nicely... I still remember when she held it up- saying that knowing how I felt had made her happy... truly happy for the first time...

It's been a year now. A whole year of us, happily together.

She was there on the last reaping to hug me and tell me it was all going to be okay- sort of like Mom used to. I really wish she was here today, but her family made her stay at home, and I can't blame them. They're more worried than my family is- probably because they have four children including Amethyst. One, her brother, is eighteen. I think they're all worried he'll get chosen because his name is in so many times.

I'm sort of jealous of her. Our Dad hasn't so much as batted an eyelid since the drawing of the card. I think he's convinced that our odds are so minimal that there's no point in worrying himself. Something inside me says that if one of my sisters is picked- he's never going to forgive himself.

But if I'm picked... I don't really know how he'll react.

"-Jason? Are you home?"

An odd, groundless panic spreads through me as I hastily stuff the papers back into the drawers. Just as I push it closed- my youngest sister peeks her head inside my bedroom door- her aqua hair falling to her sneakers. As she catches the bewildered expression on my face she forces a meek smile and lifts up a comb.

"I thought you might like some help getting ready," As she steps inside, I see the spiked haired twin is hiding behind her. "We know how you are on reapings... besides; it'd be nice if we could get some family time in-"

The two of them exchange looks. I can't help but smile a little too as they both look back at me with identical cheery smiles- created purely to help cheer their older brother up.

"-_Right_?"

They were right. With an obliging jerk of my head- I allow them inside, and gently push all the worries and fears I'm feeling about the reaping at the back of my mind- where I can't help but hope they'll stay- unrealised- to be eventually forgotten.

"Thanks you guys." I smile as a hand pulls a comb through the blue-black of my hair.

"_You're welcome~!_" the two of them chime.

**

* * *

**

We're running late when Dad finally comes home and manages to takes us to the narrow street where the reaping is to take place. My nerves are back- and with a frightening intensity that's difficult to hide. My sisters both kiss me 'good luck' on the cheek before hurrying off to their age group in the female area- leaving me alone with our Father.

I don't know if I should say anything to him before I go the age '**17's**' section. Dad's the kind of person who'll make fun of a person later if they worry about something- and I really don't feel like being criticized for being nervous like everyone else.  
So I just look at him, and shrug. I receive a dull sort of 'I understand' smile in return. I decide that's probably the best I'll get out of him right now.

We're pretty late. I can see that all the guys in my year are already here, either being completely stoic or muttering under their breaths to one another. There aren't any careers in my age group- but I could be wrong. No one here in the Capitol is that open when it comes to suicidal thoughts.

It's always kind of assumed.

From my spot three rows from the front of the pack, added to standing on my toes- I can _just _see Amethyst's brother stiffly walking into the '**18's**' section. A few seconds later and I've found her, wearing her best periwinkle blue dress- wringing her hands and looking around the crowd of guys fretfully- the light purple hair wispy around her face.

I push through the crowd of guys- who part without much effort- and break into a breathless sort of smile when I see her eyes light up. There's really no need for words as I wrap my arms around her and give her a tight, reassuring squeeze like then one she gave me last year.

"It'll be okay," I mumble. I don't want other people to hear. "I promise."

Although she says nothing, she nods against my chest. Suddenly I hear the newly elected 'Sector 1' mayor calling for quiet- and even though it's ignored, we decide we've had our moment. I close my eyes as Amethyst, still holding my hand in hers- gets up on her toes and kisses me quickly but softly on the lips.

"I have something to give you after," Amethyst whispers, showing a timid smile. "Um... be strong Jase."

A nickname for when I'm feeling down. I return her smile and- ruefully let go of her hand as we both return to opposite sides of the ropes. The crowd is starting to quiet down, and I'm now left on the very edge of the group of guys.

If only I was younger, so I wouldn't be close enough to see the poor pointless mayor reading out a treaty that means nothing to us. Every contorted wrinkle in his face tells us all that he's think what we're thinking. That this _isn't_ right.

The minutes of droning, monotonous words drag by- and my eyes are drawn up to the sky to help take my mind off the awfulness of it all. The rolling blue is undisturbed by even the wind today- as if today was just meant for... living. Nothing more.  
I usually love days like these. Staring up at a sky that's shared by all of Panem... by the entire world... it's like a blanket that covers us all.

At least this reaping is different. I feel slightly at ease as I remember something that I had previously forgotten... and that is that at least... at least no District kids are being taken away this time. Here in the Capitol we're led to believe that they're healthy and happy out there- but it's so easy to tell that the misery in their eyes is from more than just the games.

Despite the fact I'm still worried that my sisters or Amethyst will be chosen, this little relief I've remembered calms my stomach slightly as the mayor- finished with the treaty- folds it up and places it on the podium before waving over the District escort.

The pink haired woman looks as bothered by the situation as everyone else is- but she hides it well behind her voice as she calls out "Best of luck to our female tribute-!", without even introducing herself first.

A pang of fear strikes me as her nails grasp the fated slip of paper. My chest tightens as the escort looks up at the crowd and calls out the first Capitol tribute.

"-Liotta McKensie!"

Something shatters in the surrounding crowd but all I feel a wave of relief that none of my family were chosen. That Amethyst is safe. A glare of light reflects of a camera as it pans around to watch the first tribute of the Hunger Games- and as the escort calls for her to move and she finally emerges from the surrounding crowd of girls- I feel my stomach drop.

She's only twelve.

A woman moans in what could only be agony from the sides. I understand exactly what the woman must be feeling- because the sick feeling in my gut is back as I watch the golden haired girl with wing implants make her way up to the stage with short, stiff steps.

This isn't humane. She doesn't even look twelve- she looks more like she's eight. She's just a child. As she turns around on the stage and stares out at the crowd you can see the almost catatonic look in her eyes from the shock she's in.  
Liotta McKensie is the first girl in the Capitol to be sentenced to death. I stare down at the shoes as the escort woman calls out for volunteers that don't exist.

"This is your last chance!"

No one will take her place. The little girl who looks like an angel could be one by the end of the month- and no one wants to suffer her fate for her. I clench my fists by my sides and stare up at the sky, desperate to get back that feeling of relief I had felt from before.

"Sector 1, I present your female tribute for the Fifth Quarter Quell-!"

And it's done. Just like that, Liotta McKensie has had her life taken away by a pink haired woman and a glass bowl of names. I allow myself to glance at her while the woman heads over the male ball of names- but I can't stare too long. Her little blue eyes are filling with tears and- before I can look away she hangs her head, as if she's ashamed.

"-And best of luck to our male tribute-"

My attention snaps back to the escort in an instant- just in time to see her bring the slip to her face. I don't even have time to panic as her lips form the smile that comes with the start of my name.

"Jason Blackheath!"

There's silence. I can hear a choking cry from the other side of the ropes but I don't move. The guys beside me look at one another, some relieved and others still horrified. Strangely my stomach feels empty as I step over the rope and- doing my best to keep my eyes fixed ahead- make my way towards the stage...

"-_J-Jason_-!"

Amethyst is crying. As I take my place beside the angel girl I accidentally brush against her wing. She doesn't notice. She doesn't even look at me. I take it as a sign and stare out across the audience- unable to smile or cry as my eyes capture each face of the ones I love.

My sisters, my Dad... Amethyst. Not one of them dares to break their eyes away from me- as if they're afraid I'm going to wisp away into nothing on this stage I used to have nightmares about.

The sunlight glints in my eyes- but I don't even try to block it. Instead I stare back at them. I am their brother... their son... their boyfriend... taken away from them...

...just as they are from me.

**

* * *

**

The velvet tents that are made up as our farewell rooms offer no privacy from one another- but I can't really think about that long because all too soon my sisters are both sitting beside me- rubbing their eyes and doing their best to hold in their tears long enough to say goodbye.

"We should've done something yesterday." One of them says tearfully. "T-To spend what time we had left..."

"Don't say that!" The other cries. Her make-up they applied in my room is running down her face. "J-Jason could come back! N-No, he's going to come back! He's coming back-!"

They're hysterical. I'm lavished with tight hugs and kisses to my cheeks as they both apologise for petty indiscretions they thought had bothered me. I keep whispering for them not to worry- but they're killing me softly inside. I won't be able to handle much more.

The Peacekeeper comes along and tells them it's time for my next guest- to which one of them lashes out and tells him to get lost- but there's no getting around the regulations. With several more hugs and cries- I watch as my two sisters disappear behind the velvet fold of the tent doorway.

It may have seemed like I found them annoying as a child, but I do love them now. I'm glad that they're safe from the reaping. I just wish that I was too.

Dad is my next visitor. To my surprise he's been crying- and he puts a hand on my shoulder as he weakly tries to get his words out; thinking each word was as precious as time itself.

"I'm sorry I couldn't replace your mother..." His voice quivers with every breath. "It hurt you... hurt you more than it did me when she left... I just couldn't bear to bring back another woman..."

This is the most serious I've ever seen my father, and it stuns me. I listen in silence as he fumbles into his pocket and brings out a blue silk handkerchief- handing it to me in silence.  
I just stare at him at first, wondering what he was trying to say. In response he jerks his head at it. I'm guessing he wants me to unwrap it.

Inside the soft folds of the cloth is a ring, perhaps just large enough to fit on my index finger. As I hold it up the dim light of the tent- I'm suddenly struck by its familiarity.

"This is-"

"You take it." Dad shoves his hands in his pockets and stands to his feet. "...I... I've been a terrible father... and this... this is the best I can do..."

I don't know what to say. The ring is warm in my hands as Dad- clearly feeling worse than he felt when he first came in- pulls my head to his chest and hugs me for a moment, before pushing his way out of the tent.  
I'm left alone, holding my mother's abandoned engagement ring in my shaking hands.

Is this supposed to be my token? The reason I'm going to come home? The ring grows warmer between my fingers. I don't understand...

There's a knot in my throat as I hear the guard usher someone else inside- but as a minute passes I realise that it's not for me. There are muffled whispers in the tent beside me which I do my best to ignore. It's only right to give them what little privacy they have.

I can hear the Hall's doorway opening one more time- and my heart pounds in my throat as Amethyst- shaking like a leaf- opens the tent's door.

She doesn't sit down next to me. She lets the flap fall shut behind her while we stare at each other from across the short distance. The ring is tightly hidden in the palm of my hand- which I quickly stow away in my pocket. It takes all the breath I have left to speak.

"...hi."

Instantly she begins to cry. Hurrying forwards, Amethyst throws her arms around my sides and screams into my chest as she sinks to her knees. Finally my will begins to shatter and the tears start to fall.

"Y-You SA-said-" She chokes, tears streaming down her face. "Y-Y-You p-promised it'd-it'd be o-okay!"

"I know." I breathe. I clutch her face in my hands and look down at her, pressing warm hands against her face. "I'm sorry."

Amethyst doesn't hold back her cries as I continue to hold her head in my hands. Slowly I sink to the carpet too and hold her tightly as she sobs heavily into my reaping day clothes- digging her nails in my arms as if she'd never let go.

"I-I... I l-love y-you-" Amethyst croaks, her eyes are red and puffy with tears. "I-I should've... should've... I should've told you m-more-"

"I love you too..." Whenever we said it before it was a warm, soft feeling. Now my heart feels cold and sore. "...you know I do..."

There's nothing we can say. Our love is cut short- and there's no point in deluding ourselves with fantasies of me winning, because she knows I can't. So instead we sit there in the deathly silence- all out of tears- holding each other for the last time.

It isn't until the last few minutes that I remember the ring Dad gave me. Trembling, I reach into my pocket and pull it out. With my other hand I take Amethyst's hand and place it in the middle before curling her fingers around.

"...Amethyst... I want you to... I want you to have this..." She unfurls her hand and stares at it in shock. "...take care of it... it'd make me... make me happy."

"J-Jason I..." She thinks for a moment and then shakes her head. "No... I will take care of it... I promise I will..."

I smile. It's probably the last smile I'll ever give. I watch as she slips it onto her left ring finger- and clenches her fist to keep it from sliding off. Perhaps if this were a real proposal, I'd have felt daunted by the omen.

"...didn't think it would fit..." I laugh, weakly. "You can re-size it... if you want..."

"Yeah..." Amethyst is miserable. She suddenly reaches into her dress pocket and pulls out a beaded bracelet. "Here... it was meant to be... well... a good luck charm... I don't think it works."

She's trying to make a joke, but it's too depressing to laugh. I take the bracelet in my hand and repress the shiver it gives me. It's surprisingly cold- but the design is okay. It's just a string of purple, black and blue beads. She probably made this to cheer me up.

"I guess it'll be my token..." I pull it on my wrist and feel thankful that it doesn't slide off. "...I like it... thank you."

Amethyst opens her mouth to speak- but the Peacekeeper is back and tells us that our time is up. The tears begin to come flooding back as Amethyst pulls me back for one final hug.

"I love you." She whispers quietly.

I wrap my arms around her shoulders and hold her one last time. Resting my head against hers I whisper back.

"I love you too."

I hope you'll be able to find happiness without me.

* * *

**Please leave a review, I always appreciate it. :)**


	4. S2, Hushed Whisperer

**A Vivid Note: **as always, thank you to those who reviewed the last chapter! It's a huge relief to know that I've succeeded in properly writing a _male_ tribute's introduction. I know I've only done two introductions so far- three if you count this one- but I honestly can hardly wait until you're able to meet all of them in full.  
It sounds silly, but I already love them all. Otherwise I wouldn't be able to write with them.

This tribute was submitted by _Lazy Rena Pudding_- and I'll tell you now, she's quite the individual. Capturing her character was pretty difficult- but I'm hoping I was able to manage it. She's quite different to our first female tribute.

So, it's time for us to get going again. I sincerely hope that you're enjoying the ride so far- and that all of you who are waiting to meet your tributes are holding on excitedly. I promise you as your writer, and your friend, that I will do my utmost best not to disappoint you!  
Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Natalia Marinos; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 2._

I want to scream. To shriek my lungs out until my throat is sore and my voice is gone. To shout until the whole world finally realises that I'm not okay. I'm not okay with this at all.

I've always hated the Hunger Games, but this year has brought my resentment of them to a whole new level. I'm practically shaking with fury- which is making it very difficult to tie my hair up in a bun. The blue underside of my back hair is fanning out awkwardly because I just _can't_ keep my hands steady.  
The frustration becomes too much and end up hissing in annoyance as my hair completely slips from place- falling back around my shoulders.

"This is _ridiculous_-"

I flick the hair elastic across the room, not bothering to see where it falls. I just stare into the mirror of my mother's vanity table- staring at the girl who angrily stares back with her blue eyes on the verge of tears.  
So this is what it feels like; all those District girls getting ready for the reaping. It's hard to believe something so simple like getting dressed and putting up your hair can become so depressing, so hard- so absolutely infuriating...

There's no way I can keep doing this. With a huff of air I kick the chair back.

"Screw it."

I tend to whisper to myself when I'm angry. It calms me down somewhat, even though it puts everyone else around me on edge. Luckily for me- there's no one around at the moment. Nate's gone out to get us something for lunch- and my Mom... well I don't know where she is. Hopefully somewhere she can take her mind off of things.

This time of year is never fun for our household, and I think- if I had to stick it to anything- it'd be because we're one of the uncommon families who hate the games.  
I never could see the festivity in it all. The parties people threw, the sponsoring the cheering as one tribute massacred another... it was sick and barbaric in its execution- and not even right in any sense of morality.

-not that I've told anyone I think that way. Not since I was in grade school and the teacher overheard me screaming those feelings at another student. I was suspended for three days and my Mother wouldn't stop crying for all three. She was so worried that re-education would be alerted to the outburst and I'd be taken away.

Luckily I wasn't. The teacher decided it was just a minor indiscretion and that I'd get over it eventually. I didn't get over it, but I never spoke of my feelings again- out of fear that the next time I really would get taken away.

I channel the frustrations out in other ways. I've tried everything to find sensible ways of expressing myself- and so far I've found only two that really work for me. Singing and designing clothes.

Pawing through my wardrobe, I pull out dress after dress in search of one suitable for the Sector reaping. They all end up in a flurry on my bed- and I'm torn between the short silver and blue dress with buckles and the long black one with frills.  
The chances of me being picked aren't as great as the younger tributes- but I know for a fact that there are less older teenage tributes in our newly dubbed Sector. This means that I'm in the minority with the _majority_ of slips.

"-so unfair..."

I grit my teeth as I crouch down and start going through my shoes for a match. None of them are neatly paired up- like my Mother's undoubtedly are- so I can further take out my feelings on clattering mine about.

-Why do children have to be sent to the games? _Children _weren't the rebels anyway- it was their bloody parents. So why aren't the adults the ones being reaped? At least that would make _some _sense...

If it wasn't for the constant moral degradation, I'd enjoy living in the Capitol. The crazy fashions, the endless stream of party-loving people... it's possibly the only place in Panem- perhaps even the _world- _that I can be accepted.  
Oh not that school isn't hell for me. Being the girl with _opinions_ and dreams these days apparently means you're pushy, weird and... 'gaga'. It usually doesn't bother me, but when you're surrounded by eccentrics, you have to work hard to be eccentric yourself- and the least they can do is accept it.

I eventually decide on the silver and blue buckle dress, with a similar pair of buckled silver heel boots. I feel a little bit worried that I'll be chosen- but at least in this I don't look too weak, or too obsessed with my appearance. Plus it's one of my own designs- so it's a good way to get my name out there if I'm chosen.

...I really don't want to be chosen though. I don't think anyone does in reality, but I really, _really _don't want to be the one whose name is pulled from that stupid glass ball. Not only would it be impossible for me to win, but I can't inflict the pain of losing me on my mother. She's already lost Dad. I think that's enough.

-Dad didn't die though, as much as I remember wishing he did. I don't anymore- but I did back then. Nate couldn't stop laughing because hey, our father was _gay_- but I didn't think it was funny at all.  
Mom loved him. She _really _loved him- and he runs off with another guy with his only excuse being 'I'm gay'? I'm sorry but I don't think that's right. I have nothing against gays, we're pretty liberal when it comes to that here, but I don't like Dad.

He left her, all alone- wanting happiness only for himself. Okay- so she had Nate and me, but we're hardly a replacement for a _lover_- especially since at the time we were only eight or so. Nothing seemed to make her feel better- and time has only helped mask the loneliness.  
I think that's why I'm so angry about these games. Because I know that there are more women like Mom out there- who, if their children are taken away- they'll have nothing left.

"Ah- oh you're _kidding me_-"

To my disappointment the dress is a bit shorter than I originally anticipated. Maybe I got taller these holidays. It cuts off halfway up my thighs- and when it's paired up with the pair of silver buckled boots- I really look like I should be standing on the corner of a red-light district.  
Kicking off the shoes I fumble around for a pair of sensible black stockings; sensible being a huge deal because I usually dress to stand out.

I wonder what Nate will wear today. That stupid brother of mine... I wouldn't be surprised if he's more worried about the lunch he's getting than being chosen. I do love him, but we're very different people- despite being twins. People sometimes forget that- assuming that because we shared a womb that we share everything else.

"There we go-!"

For the first time this morning, a small feeling of satisfaction fills my chest. Now I look presentable. If I was called up, which I still hope doesn't happen; at least I don't look like a tawdry hooker.  
I wonder who will be chosen... but I know that whoever it is, I won't be happy. I've never been happy to see someone get reaped. It's not until the games where you realise who deserves to live or not- and the ones who deserve to live almost _never _win.

Staring into the mirror, I don't think I look at all like a tribute. The District kids all do their best to dress nicely- but they look more human than I do. Alterations have always been a distaste of mine- but being a teenager in the Capitol means that looking natural is the easiest way to be ignored.  
I only picked the most subtle of alterations- the most outrageous one I picked is the blue swirling tattoo that slowly disappears into the pale of my skin. Alongside that are the tiny blue gemstones fleck the surface of my cheek bones, and the underside of my jet black hair a dark blue to match my eyes.

My eyes however, remain untouched. These deep blue eyes of mine will, _always_- be untouched. I still have to fight the pleas of my friends to have them altered, and I've always been too shy to tell them the reason why.

...I know that I can come across as obnoxious at times... and weird and eccentric- like any other Capitol girl... but I'm more than that. Staring into this mirror, comparing myself to all the District kids I had watched slaughtered- I know that on the outside I look no different from the rest of the Capitol.

-but I'm different on the inside. I'm more than just a faceless Capitol denizen. I know I am, even though no one else has noticed. Not my parents, my Mom, Nate- or even my closest friends. I really believe in the idea that eyes are the 'window to the soul'... and I hope that one day- _one day_- someone is going to be able to look into mine and say to me- with no hesitation- '_you're different, aren't you Natalia?_'

The sound of Nate's keys in the front door brings me crashing back to reality. With a gasp of surprise, I double back from the reflection I had been staring at- shocked at the Capitol girl who stares back at me, tears streaking down her cheeks.

I never even noticed I had begun to cry.

**

* * *

**

The street where the reaping is taking place is apparently the largest available road located within the newly named 'Sector 2'. So when I arrive at a squashed up intersection with swarms of people on all sides- I can't help but feel slightly repulsed by how little effort the Capitol puts into organising these things.

"Time to be herded into the slaughterhouse," Nate snarks dully; resulting in Mom looking mortified and an apprehensive look from me. "-I'm just kidding you two."

"-there's nothing to joke about." I snap. I really didn't want to fight before the reaping, but my temper has gotten the better of me. "This is really serious."

"Relax Tali," Nate quickly realises he's offsetting the beast. "Just trying to... oh never mind... we'll be okay- honest Mom."

Mom had cried the entire way here. Even now she wrings and knots her handkerchief between her hands- obviously feeling the brunt of the anxiety. I'm sure we're not helping her worries.  
In a move we haven't made in years, the two of us hug Mom reassuringly. Nate exchanges a weak smile with me before we both draw away and tell her that it's time for us to go into our age groups. This makes Mom choke up a little.

"I just... I don't think I can handle this... alone..." Mom looks at her feet, the orange of her eyes swimming in tears. "Even if our District wins... someone in this District is going to die..."

Nate and I look to one another. It's strange how when people ask you- when you're a twin- if you share a psychic connection- how quickly you are to say no. However there are moments like this one where it's plain to tell what the other is thinking.

"-Mom, stand on the other side of the rope by my section," I point over to the small gap between the crowd and the sectioned off area marked '**17's**'- small enough to bridge by holding hands. "I'll hold your hand the entire time, okay?"

It's a juvenile gesture- but Mom gives me the 'all clear' smile. Without another word, Nate claps me approvingly on the back and walks away- finding his spot in the male '**17**'**s**' area. Seeing the newly elected mayor arguing quietly with the sea-green haired female escort- I figure it's the time for me and Mom to get moving too.

Inside the ropes it's even more claustrophobic than it was outside. I know what I had thought earlier about their being less numbers in the seventeen and eighteen year old sections- but crammed up against them really throws that perspective out the window.  
Nate's comment earlier about the slaughterhouse is eerily accurate. The only thing that keeps me from panicking is my hand stretched taut over the gap- holding on tightly to Mom's.

The mayor has stopped arguing with the escort and is calling for quiet. I really regret my dress choice now. I received a few approving looks from the spare friends I could pick out of the crowd- but it's really hard to breathe with all of the buckles. Mom's hand is also squeezing mine tighter and tighter as the treaty of treason is read out across the crowd.

_It's okay_. I want to whisper that to her, but the crowd has fallen deathly silent- and I don't have the nerve. I don't know why but I'm worried that someone might overhear. The reality of the reapings is really sinking in now- and I can almost taste the dread.  
So I breathe, steadily. Be strong Tali; be strong for your Mother...

Up walks the escort- her long green hair swaying about her hips as she announces herself as 'Missy'. She looks about twenty- and from the looks of the annoyed pout- this probably isn't her desired career. She pauses for a few seconds, probably unsure of the protocols of reaping- and then turns immediately to the glass ball filled with female names.

"Sector 2's female tribute for the fifth Quarter Quell is-"

As she fishes the name from the orb- Mom's random onset of grip crushes my fingers. I let out a slight shout of pain just as the escort's lips open; but not long enough to mask the last name-

"-Marinos!"

My hand goes dead. The claustrophobia from before disappears as girls automatically step away from me. I stare at the escort in shock as she begins to scout the audience, eyes sweeping towards where everyone has begun to stare.

"N-Natalia-"

Mom. I turn to face her- hollow and speechless as I see her pupils as thin as pinpricks. Her hand tightens around mine.

"-don't walk up there." She breathes. Her usually beautiful face is frightening from the intense fear. "Please Natalia- d-don't walk up there- ignore it-"

The bulk of the TV cameras have found me. I stare around me, panicked.

"M-Mom, I-I have to get up there-" My face feels cold. She's breaking my hand. "You have to let go-"

"Is that our tribute? Natalia Marinos-?" the escort calls out through the buzz that is starting around us. "Up here if you'd please-?"

"Mom, you have to let go of my hand-" my voice begins to break. "Mom- you're hurting me-"

All of the power I had in my anger this morning has fled me. All that's left is the frightened outcast and her desperate mother.

"No- no Natalia you can't-!" I try to pull my hand away, my heart breaking as my Mother's fingernails dig into the skin. "D-Don't! They c-can't do this-!"

A pair of hands grabs her and pulls her backwards. I double backwards as her hand releases mine- suppressing the urge to shriek at the Peace Keeper who is restraining my mother as she begins to shriek over the hum of the crowd.

"YOU CAN'T DO THIS! SHE'S MY DAUGHTER!"

Another Peace Keeper has appeared beside me and begins to forcibly lead me to the stage by my upper arm. I try to wrench it away from his grip- but the pain in my hand still smarts and my Mother's contorted face is still fresh in my mind as her screams go unsilenced.

"Any volunteers?" The escort asks as I am left alone on the stage. The atmosphere has become tense as my Mother has been reduced to a sobbing wreck on the sidelines. "Going twice...?"

No one is going to volunteer. They're all thinking of their Mothers- and how they would never be cruel enough to place them in the spot where mine is. My fists begin to shake with a mixture of fury and desperation as the escort slices her hand through the air.

"-and gone! Congratulations Natalia Marinos, our first female tribute!"

To my horror- people applaud. I can see Nate in the crowd- his face white as a sheet and his shoulders shaking. The dress only further constricts the tightening of my chest and I am forced to breathe through my teeth as the TV cameras all glint and sneer in my direction.

"Sector 2's male tribute is-"

I don't care. I don't care who it is- I just want my Mother to stop crying. But there's nothing I can do anymore. I'm dead. I'm worse than dead- I'm a _tribute_.

My Mother will never escape my death. It'll be talked about for weeks. They'll have memorials and wakes for me for months. They'll televise it daily with the daily recount of the games. And on highlight reels they'll show it again- and again- and again...

Unless... unless I don't die...

My breathing grows shallower.

"Marshall Bruce Mathews!"

There's silence for a moment- and very distinctly someone asks '_What_?' as the crowd of boys begins to part. I don't even know what I'm thinking as the boy walks out of the crowd. All I seem to process is that he's younger than I am- but he's built tall. Tanned, and tattoos. Black hair. And scars; lots of scars.

This guy... I'm gonna have to kill him if I want to win.

"Any volunteers?"

...can I do that...?

The crowd is deathly silent for the second time. Yet, somehow I can still hear it... the shivering sobs... her silent cries for her already dead daughter...

...but... I'm not dead yet.

"Going once-!"

I look at the hand she had held so tightly. Tiny smears of blood trace where her fingernails broke the skin; showing her desperation to keep me here...

"Going twice-!"

For a moment I stare at my hand, until I realise what it'd mean if I really mean what I am thinking. So I raise my eyes up to the boy standing beside me. I take in the tanned skin, the fake orange contacts, and the array of scars that sear his face...  
I let my soul stare into those amber eyes- and I ask myself... can I really... really kill him... and others like him... to return here...?

My mother's cries reverberate in my head... and I can feel the answer burn within me like the rage I had felt this morning, staring into my own eyes...

"Final call for volunteers-!"

Marshall Bruce Mathews looks confused. I don't drop my gaze. Instead, I feel a smile creep across my lips that feels taut and plastic, which only further confuses my fellow Sector tribute.

"And gone-!"

Congratulations Bruce Mathews. You are the male tribute for Sector 2. And as your female counterpart, I'm going to warn you that if only one of us can return home...

I won't...I won't let it be you.

**

* * *

**

"-how was Mom?"

"It was awful Nate. They had to drag her out of the tent, kicking and screaming..."

The two of us sit in silence. My hand has been bandaged up in the tear-stained handkerchief my mother gave me during our final minutes together- and it was the only coherent thing she managed to do.  
Amidst the tears and screams for me to run for my life- I didn't tell her of my new promise to myself. She would find out eventually.

Nate holds my hand gingerly in his. It's hard to believe that once upon a time we were such animated talkers as children. Although I suppose this is hardly a time to be talkative- seeing as one half of us has pretty much been sentenced to death.

"I'll take care of her," Nate mumbles. I say nothing. "Keep her away from the television... that sort of thing..."

"Yeah..." I can't tell Nate either. It isn't something I can be proud of out loud. "Thanks Nate... you... you take care of yourself too."

Pointless words. Pointless words that should mean more but don't. I feel my guts twist in the agony of watching him sit there- obviously feeling just as hollow as I am.

"Sorry I..." Nate looks at me only to lower his gaze to his shoes. "Sorry I've been a lousy twin brother..."

"...you were fine." I don't know if I'm reassuring him or just trying to make this all stop. "I love you Nate."

"I love you too Natalia..." He can't even look at me. I suppose if I was in his situation I wouldn't be able to look at him either. "Please... please don't forget that we love you in there... I know it sounds dumb but... don't..."

It doesn't sound dumb. And I know I don't have to say that because he smiles at me in that knowing way he does sometimes. I breathe a shaky sigh and give my twin brother one last proper hug.

"...don't worry too much about me..." I whisper.

The peacekeeper takes him away shortly after that. I sit alone, staring at my bandaged hand and the handkerchief stained with tears and flecks of blood.  
...will I be seeing a lot of blood from now on? My eyebrow twitches. If I really am going to go down this path... I guess I will...

"...this is so unfair..."

I bury my face in my hands. My right hand is still sore from Mom's grip- but I ignore it. I also do my best to ignore the voices in the shabbily made tent beside me.  
Just this morning I was thinking of how inhumane and disgusting the games were... how much I hated them... and now I'm suddenly so willing to kill others just to return home...?

"...I... I still hate them..."

My eyes are swimming with tears, but they're different from the ones in my room. They aren't of sadness. They're of anger. I clench my fists into my hair and tug until my scalp begins to ache.

"...I won't... I won't let them ruin my life..." I hiss quietly to myself. "I won't... I won't..."

And as the tears fall, I continue to whisper to myself... but it's different from all the other times. Whispering had always calmed me down.

Now- it spurns me on.


	5. S2, Revenging Son

**A Vivid Note: **we're slowly making our way through these. I said that I would upload two chapters a day to help speed up the reaping process (which is approx. 8000 words a day so I'm working hard)- because we're all excited for the games, but I do hope that you take the time to read each character's chapter. It's common courtesy to those who wrote up the character, and it also gives you a clue as to who you're going to want to survive.

This isn't a sponsor your own tribute fiction, because at the present time I don't have the time (or the intelligence really) to tally up people's points and so. However I will admit that **your reviews **_**do **_**determine the path I take **with characters. So please read carefully and make your own decisions.  
-ah, and no, I haven't decided who I'm going to crown the winner of these games. I've made a promise to myself that I'll only decide that when the time comes. So everyone has a shot.

This tribute was submitted by _dracocrazy322_, and is the second youngest tribute so far. He's a funny guy, but- if you read the last chapter- you'll know he has an edge to him, just as all the tributes do.

Well? Let's enjoy ourselves, shall we?  
Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Marshall Bruce Mathews; 14 years; the Capitol Sector 2._

Last year I hadn't been allowed to watch the Hunger Games. My father had grounded me from television for 'talking back'- and was ignorant enough to believe that the Games were important to me.

It was a joke. Not only the lie that I had 'talked' back, rather spoke at all- but that he actually believed that just because he enjoys the game that rest of his family does too, and thought he could punish me by taking them away.  
It had almost been a relief- like a hidden gift. For the first time in years I wasn't faced with the gut-wrenching guilt of watching starving kids from the Districts be paraded to their deaths.

-I'd give anything for that to be happening again this year.

I pull on my boots as I listen quietly to the sounds of my family waking up to reaping day downstairs. I can hear my sister Victoree talking dejectedly about how awful today will be, while Casey clatters about for the breakfast bowls. Dad's silent- as per usual- and Mom is cooking a big breakfast in the attempt to make today less unpleasant.

She'll call me down in a few minutes. Usually I'm undressed and barely coherent enough to make it down the stairs without falling- but, of course, today is different. No tripping and falling today.

I couldn't sleep a wink last night. I couldn't stop worrying about what might happen today. It was too hard- and in the end I just got up and turned on my television to minimum volume. Of course, that didn't help- seeing as every television program for the past week has revolved around the total uproar over the Quarter Quell.

_How can they send Capitol children?_ _It's inhumane! It's totally immoral!_ On and on they've gone- unable to see the hypocrisy in their words. I've been thinking that about the games since I was old enough to realise what they really _were_. Yet for some reason, the rest of the Capitol has only begun to see its unethical nature when _they're _subjected to it.

It's all anyone is talking about. Victoree has been asking anyone who would listen why they didn't just cancel the Quell- but deep down I think she knows the answer. We all know the answer- but to say it out loud would be social suicide. I want to tell her- but Dad would probably kill me, and somehow I think that would just upset Victoree and Mom more.

If they don't go ahead with this Quell, which has been planned a hundred and twenty-five years in advance, we'll have to end the games forever. They can't cancel one game and say 'business as usual next year'- because it'd be breaking the longstanding line of games. I'm only fourteen and I can understand that.

-then again, I am a smart guy, but no one ever seems to notice that. When the package is this nice- who cares what's inside? That's just a joke, a joke...

I spend a few minutes considering whether or not to wear the orange fedora I had planned to match with the orange contacts I'm wearing- and ultimately decide to leave it on the bedside table. Usually I wear tank tops and shorts; to show off the medley of tattoos I have- but it's surprisingly cold for a day with no clouds. I end up pulling on a black pair of trousers I usually use for school and a white button up that was hiding in the very back of my closet.

This is probably the most presentable I've looked in years. I take a few moments to examine the end product- and I must say- my family is going to take a few seconds to recognise me. At least, they wouldn't if it wasn't for the stray tattoo of the skull and the snake on my lower arm. Well, as well as the gash of a scar that stretches from my temple to my chin- but of course no one is going to draw attention to that.

Walking down the carpeted steps to the kitchen, I take my time glancing at the family photos that line the walls. Judging from these you would think we were a normal, happy family. We're all smiling, all close and touching. Heck- I can even see in one where Dad and I have our arms around one another. Mom was probably close by when it was taken.

My Dad and I... we don't get along. Maybe he was tired after raising Victoree and Casey first, and he just wasn't ready for that third kid. Or maybe it was because he only ever wanted two kids in the first place. Perhaps.  
Whatever the reason- from when I was very young up until now- I've been 'nothing but a disappointment' to my father and I've grown to not care about it.

We're different people, very different. Dad has no alterations aside from- although he denies this- muscular enhancements. When I came home with my first tattoo a year ago, the gothic cross on my right shoulder- he snapped like a faulty wire. I loved seeing that reaction so I got two more, just to piss him off.

-I never guessed that one of the permanent marks on my body would be because of him at that stage. It had only been verbal abuse up until that point...

"Marsh'!" Victoree never calls me by my first name. I pull a chair open and sit down at the breakfast table. "You're up early."

"I thought I'd save Mom the effort of calling up the stairs," I grin over my shoulder. Mom smiles back, weakly. "Plus breakfast smelt _so_ good."

A grunt from the other side of the table indicates that Dad has acknowledged my presence. This is probably going to be the extent of our interaction today.  
Casey has a mountain of toast on his plate and is chewing through a large mouthful. This doesn't stop him from trying to make breakfast conversation though.

"-d'ya reck'n anyone got tessarae'?" Crumbs fly all over the table. Usually this would result in Casey being reprimanded for a lack of manners- but the atmosphere is tenser than usual. "I mean-"

"Probably not," I cut him off. I don't want to get crumbs all over me after just having gotten dressed. "-what are Capitol families going to do with grain anyway?"

"I heard that they changed it," Victoree says. "-to a small amount of money per entry; a hundred dollars or so..."

I didn't know that. Our family is well off enough that we don't need it, as are most families. That's not to say there aren't some more struggling families in the Capitol who wouldn't need the money, on the verge of being relocated to a District.

"-it's all crap." Dad mutters darkly. I cast a sideways glance at him to see that he's opened up a newspaper. "Reaping Capitol children... ain't no fighters here... just pansies..."

Of course that's all my father cares about; the _entertainment _being provided, not the gross lack of human decency. I distract myself by stealing a helping of Casey's toast.

"-those District kids, at least _they've _got careers!" Dad's starting to get fired up. "-and a reason to fight mind you, what have we got? _Recreational _hunters? Ain't got no guns in the arena-"

There's a shot at me. Mom's been taking me archery shooting for the past few months- and he's made it abundantly clear he thinks it's a waste. Probably wouldn't if it was Casey- but it's me, so it's a waste.

"I guess we'll see won't we?" Mom says timidly, in a way that signifies she wants this conversation to end. "Marshall, do you want something to drink?"

"Uh, sure- anything's fine," I'm not particularly thirsty, but I might as well. "Thanks."

I'm glad that at least Mom has a sense of decency- but she's not strong enough to argue it against Dad. Victoree has become almost like a third parent to equal out the playing field.

"So Marshall-" I feel a shiver down my spine. Dad's talking. "-feeling lucky today _son_?"

There's another shot at me; calling me 'son'. His voice is almost dripping in distaste. However the family is present- and today is going to be hard enough, so I coolly turn towards him and give him a shrug.

"Luckier than usual."

It doesn't matter what I'll say. Dad's taking a shot at me. This is the first time we've been in the same room since our last argument- and that ended badly for him. He's looking for some sort of comeuppance now I'm sure.  
As per usual- a dull smirk reads across his lips as he gives his newspaper a little shake.

"Wouldn't fancy your odds in the arena... lucky Victoree's in the clear, and Casey could at least throw a mean punch..." His steely glare flickers up to my face. I feel my fist tighten around my toast as his eyes linger across the scar. "-you'd die though. Definitely."

"Dad-!" Victoree starts, obviously aghast. "Don't say things like-"

"He knows it's true," Dad mutters. He gives the newspaper another shake, even though it's obvious he's not reading it. "You all do- it'd be a cold day in hell before Marshall Bruce Mathews won the Hunger Games-"

"-I beat you didn't I?"

Ha.

The room falls silent. Victoree shrinks away into her seat and Casey stares blankly at the two of us. With a smirk that hides my fury and mocks my father's disgruntled surprise- I jab a thumb at my scar.

"I'd love to have seen you survive this."

**

* * *

**

Our dispute over the breakfast table went unpunished for now- but after the reaping I'll face Dad's full wrath. For now he stands over Casey and I as Mom and Victoree disappear into the surrounding crowds.

"You're over there Case'," Dad points over the area marked '**17's**'. He looks at me with his grey eyes for a fraction of a second before pointing over the '**14's**'. "There."

Casey lingers behind but I go ahead and begin to weed out my friends who are already standing in the pack. Soon enough I find both Kyle and Teddy- both of whom are particularly on edge. We exchange a few words, the bulk of which being about things unrelated to the games- like our band and when the next practice should be- but it's only to distract us from the slowly tightening pack of guys panicking around us.

"...I wonder who'll go..." Teddy whispers. He's always been the most conscientious of the group. "...reckon they'll be someone from our class...?"

"Not likely..." Though he says this, Kyle still looks worried. "There's almost ten thousand kids here... what are the odds-?"

I say nothing. I rub my arm unintentionally where the skull and the snake are- wondering where in the crowd Mom, Dad and Victoree ended up. I must say- being here now has made me more nervous than the past few days have. Plus the fact I haven't slept is making this all much more vibrant than usual with the sun beating down on us.

The mayor calls for quiet, and faster than expected—everyone obliges. He begins to read the long and arduous 'treaty of treason'- which only manages to intensify my annoyance.  
It's painfully obvious that no one in the Capitol actually _listens _to the treaty of treason. To us it doesn't mean anything- just that we have the right to kill twenty-three children from the Districts a year. Even now the mayor is going on about how the District's shamed the Capitol- and perhaps if we _were _in a District, we'd be feeling guilty or angry.

-But instead everyone is just tuning out, waiting for the long green haired woman to make her move towards the famous glass balls filled with our names. They're larger than the Districts' usually are, but that's because we have a larger population.

Finally the treaty ends, and the woman steps forward with an air of frustration.

"My name is Missy, and I will be this Sector's escort!" I can't help but smirk. This has _got _to be her first year, judging on how impatient she got during the treaty. "So..."

With a second of an awkward pause- Missy turns to the glass bowls. Even though it's not the guys turn to worry, I can feel the crowd around me hold their breath as the escort pulls the slip from the bowl. Slowly, I too begin to hesitate.

"-Natalia Marinos!"

Silence for a moment. I look around- but the only movement is the congregation of girls towards the front moving to allow the reaped girl to pass through. But there's hurried chatter and no girl emerges from the crowd.

"Is that our tribute? Natalia Marinos!" The escort points rather bluntly at the stage. "Up here if you'd please?"

Kyle and Teddy look at each other, mouthing to see if the other knows who was just called. The name doesn't ring any bells with me, but soon enough the seventeen year old girl is pulled from the audience by a Peace Keeper while her mother screams at them in desperation.

From here in the crowd I can see that she's quite pretty, were it not for the scowl for unknown reasons on her face. I see the blue gemstones glitter underneath her eyes as she stares out across the crowd- almost ruefully as they call for volunteers.

"Going twice-?"

No one is volunteering. I can hear a guy up ahead whispering hurriedly to another, possibly because they know the girl. As usual, I say nothing. I just stare at the girl I never knew but would soon watch die-

"-Congratulations Natalia Marinos, our first female tribute!"

The crowd is unsure what to do, but the escort seems to want them to clap- so they oblige quickly. For a second I go to clap my hands, only to stop myself in time and pin them to my sides. As the applause dies away all that can be heard is the girl's mother crying and the clicking of the escort's heels as she reaches in for the male tribute.

"Sector 2's male tribute is-"

-All the pent up panic bursts through me at once. What if it's Casey? My family will fall apart at the seams if he died. No, what if it's Kyle-? Or Teddy? Or even-

"Marshall Bruce Mathews!"

The world freezes. My mouth sags open a little and- without even realising- I croak out-

"What?"

The boys step away from me. Kyle and Teddy look positively mortified as I slowly step out towards the stage- staring at it but not really seeing it.  
This isn't happening. I mean- there were thousands of guys here- and my slip was pulled?

I catch the girl, Natalia looking at me- but only for a second. Her eyes are glassy and reflect nothing. I'm positive that mine must be the exact same right now.

"Any volunteers?" Missy yells out over the crowd. "Going once-?"

Oh god- what's happening? I'm going to die. I'm really going to die, aren't I? I can see Casey pushing his way through the seventeens towards the outskirts- but I can't find Victoree and my parents.

"Going twice-!"

My eyes trail towards Natalia. She has slowly turned in my direction and stares at me blankly. A bubble rises in my throat as I feel a terrible omen lurking behind those blue eyes.

"Final call for volunteers-!"

Then she smiles. The confusion floods my face as those eyes- those frightening, glassy eyes bear into mine as the smile that seems to bear me nothing but misfortune welcomes me to my role as tribute.

"And gone-! Congratulations Marshall Bruce Mathews- you are the male tribute for Sector 2!"

-And just like that, it's done. Natalia's eyes snap away from mine and I stare out across the applauding crowd in a mixture of dread and mortified realisation as the reality sinks in my scarred being. I can't help but watch as the cameras pan across the two of us- knowing that soon my family and friends will watch this same footage as my last moments before the games.

-and the same footage the sponsors will watch as they contemplate whether I'm worth their money...

...I hope they can't tell how freaking terrified I am.

**

* * *

**

I feel numb. So numb that I barely hear anything that Kyle and Teddy say during our last moments together. Kyle tries to offer a pocket knife of his as my token- but Teddy points out that they wouldn't allow me bringing in outside weapons. This makes Kyle fumble it and wipe away the makings of tears.

"Guys... thanks for everything," I don't really know what to say. I want them to know how much they've helped me during my difficulties with Dad- but the words don't come. "Uh... good luck with the band..."

"-we can't play without you." Teddy says upset. "You're the guitarist-"

"You'll just have to learn," I crack a smile. It hurts my face but it feels about right. "There are plenty of lead singers who play guitar as well-"

"Yeah... but..." Teddy stares at his shoes. "You... you know..."

I don't, but I pretend I do. I'm sure it was just more of the same 'We can't continue it without you; it'd be wrong' nonsense. The fact I was going to die was painful enough- but knowing that it was ruining everyone's lives around me was even worse.

The peacekeeper comes in and tells my two friends to leave- who do so after giving me a hug that we previously would have made fun of. I'm left alone for a few minutes as the woman in Natalia's tent, most likely her mother- begins to shriek and wail loudly.

...I wonder if Mom's this bad. My nails dig into my trouser leg. I don't think I could handle Mom crying... or Victoree... Casey might not cry, but it'll be tough...

-I think this in my mind to stop myself from focusing on the one thought that's paralysing me with fear.

...what's Dad going to say?

But minutes tick by, and no one enters. I have to get up and pace about the velvet tent just to stop myself from freaking out. The hysterical woman from the tent next door is forcibly taken away- and both our tents fall silent as the two Sector 2 tributes await their visitors.

...I wonder... I wonder what Natalia's thinking...?

If I had to label my initial feelings towards her, I'd say they were of intrigue- but since being on stage with her and witnessing that shiver inducing smile- they're mixed with feelings of fear.  
Will she try to kill me? I turn to the velvet wall that separates us. Is she thinking of how she'll kill me now?

The hall door opens. I straighten up a little in my seat- but the visitor isn't for me. I heard muffled whispers from Natalia's tent- but nothing I can actually make out. I go back to waiting for my visitors.

More minutes pass until the door finally opens again. The first question I'm going to ask is what took them so long- but when only Casey enters the tent, I can feel the bottom of my stomach drop out. As Casey looks at me, his face filled with a desperate sadness- I'm almost too afraid to ask.

"Where's... Where are Mom... and Victoree...?" I swallow. They've got to be just outside. "...and where is...?"

"...I got away from him..." My shoulders begin to fall as my eyes widen. I notice that Casey is nursing his arm. "He... he said that you're dead... we should forget you now."

No. No way. My mouth begins to go dry.

I know that Dad and I never got along... to the point where he'd hit me and disown me regularly... but... to take away my final goodbye...?

"...he tried to pull me back, but I hit him..." Casey tries to grin, but tears are falling. "I-It feels good to hit him- y'know...?'

"Casey..." I whisper. My body is starting to shake. "Tell me they're coming... tell me Mom and Victoree are coming to say goodbye..."

It all goes quiet. A shaky breath escapes me as Casey drops his gaze, ashamed.

"...I'm sorry bro..."

This can't be possible.

Hatred, unlike _any_ I've ever felt before burns inside my heart. The scar that splits the side of my face seems to grow hot knowing that the man I've always fought against- the man who was supposed to be my father- has just single-handedly taken away my last goodbye.

"I-I'll sponsor you Marsh'," Casey is desperate. My body has gone rigid. "I'll get the guys to help out- we'll get you what you need-"

"I'm going to kill him."

Casey falls silent; fear spreading across his face. I grit my teeth together and clench my hands into my hair- pulling lose strands of black hair and not caring for the pain it causes. I don't care. I don't care about pain anymore. Split the side of my head open again! I don't care! Nothing like that matters anymore!

"Casey I'm going to win," I breathe- fury burning inside. "I'm going to win. And then I'll come back... and I'll kill him. I'll _kill _him."

"Marsh-"

My brother is horrified. I stand to my feet and look down at him- positive that he too can see the anger in my eyes. I pull him into a one armed hug and then hold open the tent flap for him to leave.

"You tell him that," I growl. Casey stares at me in disbelief. "You go and you _tell _Dad that once I'm done with these games... he's next."

Without the urging of the Peacekeeper, he leaves. I let the flap fall closed and feel the furious energy swell inside me until I clench my fists so tight the knuckles ache.  
Years of rebelling against my father; the tattoos, the band the fighting... but this... I'll end it. I'll end our feud and he'll regret pre-emptively writing my obituary. I became who I am because of him and his arrogance, his poor-ass fathering.

-so I'll win these games for my father.

And then I'll kill him.

* * *

**Please review to tell me what you think! :)**


	6. S3, Eternal Optimist

**A Vivid Note: **alright- so we're onto the third reaping! I'm hoping to get through Sector 3 today- hopefully through Sector 4 tomorrow, but it could just be wishful thinking. I just really want to update quick for you guys so you can see your tributes get going.  
Thank you to everyone who reviewed! I received a few private messages and reviews regarding 'why' the Capitol is sending children, and I promise it'll be revealed more and more as the story goes on – but the main reason (which is sort of the crux of my story, and I explained it last chapter through Marsh') is that it's impossible to stop a game once it's been announced- just like with the third Quarter Quell in Catching Fire and how everyone wanted it to stop, but it went ahead anyway.  
-there's more though, of course. But you'll just have to keep reading to learn my silly reasoning. :)

This tribute was entered by the very lovely _Tour de Force_, and she's become a fast favourite of mine! I hope you all liken to her as well, because this chapter was fun to write, and she's different to the other tributes. You'll see why.

As always, let's dive right in- yes?  
Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Francesca Emmeline von Bardot; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 3._

I feel kind of excited when I think of how this Quarter Quell is going to turn out. I mean, for one I'm _really _excited to see how Capitol kids are going to survive in an arena, what with all the drama, romance and treachery that's sure to go on. But also it's the first Quell I've ever witnessed- so I just _know_ it's going to be special.

My friends and I are pretty into the Hunger Games; and it's hard not to be when we've grown up with them. I really can't get enough of it all. Last year I visited four of the past arenas, with Viv'- that's my Mom, and her girlfriend Georgia- which means that the overall total I've been to is twenty-three arenas.

One day, I'm going to have seen them _all_.

"-cesca-!" I perk up whilst holding the hair straightener. Viv' is calling me from the kitchen downstairs. "What do you want for breakfast honey-?"

"Nothing!" I call back. "I'm not hungry!"

That's not entirely true, I probably could stand to eat something- but I don't feel at all like eating. Not because I'm nervous or anything, I just don't usually eat breakfast. It's true, ask Viv' or Georgia- or even Aldridge- that's Dad. They'll all tell you the same thing.

Francesca _doesn't_ eat breakfast.

I run the straightener down a lock of my curled purple hair, smiling as it becomes sleek and shiny. I usually never straighten my hair- but it's the reaping today, and I really do want to look good. Everyone else will be going all out so I can't hold back unless I want to look second rate.

-which means that I have a _lot _of work to do before we leave for 'Sector 3's reaping; including my hair, make-up, choosing an outfit... it's an all day job, but I've been prepared for a week now. I'm always prepared.

The odds of me getting reaped are slim, so I haven't really worried about that at all. Instead I've spent my time trying to figure out how to get the most out of this year's games- which has resulted in a rather excellent chart of options on my part.  
-It's hard for me to be still for very long, so writing it up was a pain- but now I know exactly how much money I can sponsor with, how many hours a day I can watch, how many hours I can tape- and I've even managed to convince Aldridge to take my sisters and I to the interviews before _and _after the games.

None of my friends have achieved that, but that's only to be expected.

I'm a... unique individual. Special I'd say, and then pull a cheeky grin and laugh with whoever I was telling. I'm happy to be a Capitol citizen, and I have steadily grown up to be a model one- always invited to parties, fully involved when it comes to the Games.  
When I grow up I really want to be a reporter for CapitolNet news, or if not that, then the state library; anything where I can be close to the games and use my knowledge of the past victors and arenas; for a good cause.

I've loved the games ever since I was a kid. The glamorous costumes, the elaborate relationships and tactics- all of it was just so... amazing. The first games I can actually remember in full were the one hundred and thirteenth games, and I was only four. The winner had been a male tribute from District 2; who was pretty attractive aside from the heavy jaw I guess. His name was Mars I think, which used to make me giggle.

I don't know why exactly, but then again I've always been a giggly kind of girl.

-That's a reason I'm a tad disappointed that my house fell well inside Sector 3, and not Sector 2. Apparently the mentors of this year's Capitol tributes would be the mentors of the adjacent districts. I guess that also means we'll dress up according to their District too.

...I'd really love to meet Mars. I mean, I'd love to meet all the winners- but it's a hard task since they're all so... troubled, and distant. I suppose they wouldn't be so attractive if they weren't so 'hard-to-get'- but I don't care. I'll get to meet him one day I'm sure.

Capping the lid on my eyeliner- I admire my handiwork. It took a while, but with a lot of shading and an artistry of swirls- my make-up is done, hiding the acne that I haven't gotten around to fixing yet. Together with my now sleek, shiny hair and tattooed skin- I look about eighty percent ready to go.

My walk-in closet is bursting with clothes. A lot of the outfits inside are perfect for parties, clubs and fancy dinners- but for all my intelligence when it comes to 'having a good time'... I'm not so sure what to wear to a reaping.  
The District kids always put on their finest, but here in the Capitol we all seem to have separate categories of 'finest'. I guess that's because we have a lot more money for outfits where they don't...

I know that there's something amazing in here somewhere, it just needs a little coaxing to be found. I quickly work out a system by throwing potential outfits into one pile- and completely inappropriate items in another.  
-sadly, the 'potential' pile grows a lot faster than the inappropriate one does. Soon I begin weeding my way through it as well- wondering whether I should coordinate with the silver in my hair, or the green of my, modified, eyes.

"Gosh..." I sigh to myself. "This is really a two man operation..."

I battle on anyway. I find a pair of strappy green mules that I last used for a party that I can't really remember all too well- and once that's achieved I find the slinky green dress that feels like a dream on the inside- and seems to disguise my lack of curves with its soft frills down the front.

As I look in the mirror, I take a moment away from my usual positive outlook and allow myself to feel a twinge of disappointment. I do look good, but I could look better. Perhaps I should have left my hair curly... it drew attention away from the fact I'm as thin as a corpse. If it wasn't for the dress the mirror would be able to show all twenty-four of my ribs.

I run my hands over my chest region and hold back a sigh. I'm sixteen and I'm barely an A cup. Double that with the fact I'm shorter than everyone else- I look like a rather mature child.

It's those drinks. The one's that make you throw up at parties so you can keep eating... they became a habit. No one knows that they have- but they did, and I've been meaning to lay off them for about a year now, I just... never got around to it.

-Kind of like I never got around to removing the webbed skin between my fingers after the 'looking like a frog' craze died... I said before that I was unique. Just not all of it is _good _unique.

-but the same goes for everyone in the world... right?

A knock at my bedroom door surprises me, but I'm even more surprised to see my sisters Charlotte and Mirabelle standing there. I stare blankly at them for a moment before throwing my arms around them in a big hug.

"-what are you two doing here?" I smile as wide as I can. Since my sisters live with Aldridge, I don't really see them that much anymore. "Shouldn't you be getting ready-?"

Mirabelle smiles, sort of wistfully as Charlotte flops down on my double bed; expelling a loud sigh. I quickly remember that my exuberant optimism doesn't run in my gene pool.

"...what's wrong...?" I ask, sitting beside Charlotte as she sits up. "Did something happen with Dad..?"

I don't like calling him Dad. I feel more comfortable calling him Aldridge- but my sisters are different- and I know that my personal prejudices probably _isn't _what Charlotte needs right now.

"Charlotte had a bad dream," Mirabelle answers before Charlotte can even open her mouth. "She said she wanted to come see you before the whole reaping dealie."

"Oh?" I put on a sympathetic frown by sticking out my lower lip. "Did Charlie have a bad dream?"

"Don't make fun of me..." Charlotte pouts. I giggle as she puts her arms around me and squeezes me tightly. "I dreamt that I got reaped and... it was really scary..."

"You're not gonna be _reaped_," I assure her, patting her gently on her pink curled hair. "You're only fifteen- the odds of you getting reaped are... well they're really nothing to worry about."

"_Someone _has to get reaped-" she begins tearfully. Mirabelle and I exchange glances. "It could _easily _be me... or any one of us..."

"It could even _easier _be someone else." I say. I hug her tightly before pulling away and standing up. "Would you feel better if I let you wear something special of mine?"

Haha, that did the trick. Charlotte's little smile lights up as she hurries into my closet and begins to go through the piles of clothes that still litter the floor. With a little noise of satisfaction, I look over my shoulder at Mirabelle, who still looks less than convinced.

"I'm not worried," I say simply with a shrug. "These games will be great."

For the longest time, Mirabelle says nothing. I feel my semi-permanent smile begin to fade at the forlorn look that creases my sister's beautiful face. Then suddenly she opens her mouth and says-

"Yeah... I bet they will be."

**

* * *

**

The main street is filled to the brim with our new Sector's citizens. I'm stunned by the sheer amount of 'in-your-face' fashions that are overtly eccentric, like- even for the Capitol. Just from setting foot out on the pavement I can see an older woman with altered rabbit ears that flop to her shoulders- and a man directing a boy with deadly looking metal spikes for nails to his age group.

"Sixteens are over there," the man with the roster says as he marks off my name. "Fourteens are two groups behind that."

"Thank you," Mirabelle mutters. Charlotte, although cheered up from getting dressed- has quickly plummeted back down into being miserable. "Come on Charlie..."

Charlotte, who had been holding my hand the entire way here-, looks at me with an expression that suggests she might burst into tears at any moment. I squeeze her hand tightly and smile as bright as I can before letting her fingers slip away.

Viv' and Georgia have already disappeared into the crowd of ineligibles, so I make my way to the '**16's**' area alone. I can't help but feel a little out of place, hopping from foot to foot and smiling absent mindedly amongst a crowd of people who look so downcast.  
Even when I find my friends; who are usually as easy-going as I am- none of them look cheerful in the slightest.

This dampens my mood somewhat. They can't _all _be worried about being picked... can they? They know that the odds are like... 20, 000 to... wait... how many slips do sixteen year olds get put in...?

"Everyone, quiet!"

Our mayor isn't taking any guff from anyone apparently. The crowd was already on the quiet side- but from this one bellow from our newly elected 'Sector 3 mayor', everyone's mouths are shut tight- and even my trace of a smile washes away.  
The large, middle-aged mayor looks around at us with his thick eyebrows furrowing. I blink a little as he holds forwards a white piece of paper, filled on both sides with writing.

"-we have been told to perform this reaping... as if we were District citizens..." He gives the paper a shake. "I know that this means that the other Sectors will be reading the Treaty... however, I will not- as it means _nothing _to us."

Silence. I'm starting to feel a weird buzz in my tummy that I can't distinguish from eagerness or a mild stomach bug.

"-this is a sad day," the mayor calls. "But there is nothing we can do but hope. Hope that the one's taken from us today fight well... and perhaps can be returned to us in one piece."

Well, he's being realistic. It's impossible for _both _tributes to come back alive. Well, once it was possible but... I kind of forget how that game ended... was it the seventy-third games or the seventy-fourth...?

"Our escort Lilia will perform the drawing of names," the mayor steps aside from the microphone, beckoning to a rather shy looking woman in her mid-twenties. "Good luck children of Sector 3."

There's a smattering of applause. I join in too, but I still feel confused. What was the point of all that?

Lilia doesn't say anything; rather she just goes right ahead to the glass bowls. I see a group of girls around me supporting a friend who seems on the verge of fainting- and close by I can see two others gripping one another's hands. I look down at mine and feel a slight twinge of sadness. I wish I had someone to hold hands with...

The ball of names glints almost as much as the escort's glasses. I stare intently as she pulls the slip from the very bottom of the bowl- adjusting her glasses before she reads:

"Francesca Emmeline... von Bardot?"

-why did that sound like a question? It sounded like she had trouble pronouncing it or something... was the name smudged?

...wait.

I stiffen as the girls around me begin to turn and stare at me in shock and disbelief. Wait, isn't that mine name? I'm Francesca Emmeline _von Bardot_!

That's me!

"Here!" I cry bluntly. I raise my hand and suddenly remember what's happening. "Oh- oh okay... um..."

Thump. Thump. Thump. My heart's beating in my throat- I can almost hear it in my ears. Is this actually happening? I'm the tribute for the Quarter Quell? But- the odds were... like... really _long_. I'm actually quite good at math and I can't think of the right words.

I can hear a multitude of cries and whispers between my friends and family. Sure enough, as I stand upon the rickety wooden stage I can see Viv' staring at me in stunned disbelief- as Georgia holds onto her for support. Hey- there's Aldridge just behind them... looking equally as mortified.  
I raise a hand in their direction and give a short wave. The buzzing inside my stomach has also made my head a little numb- so I'm not really aware of what I'm doing. Do I look weird up here? Should I be more panicked like everyone else seems to be...?

"Do we have any volunteers?" Lilia squeaks into the microphone. I catch sight of one of the TV cameras and smile awkwardly. "Anyone...?"

There's a whimper from the audience that sounds suspiciously like Charlotte- but other than that, no one else speaks. No one wants to be Sector 3's tribute? I just stare blankly at the audience, still not feeling the situation sink in. Perhaps it won't... but doesn't this mean I'm going to die?  
...that's impossible though. I can't die. I don't know why but... that's impossible. I can't die... right?

"-l-let's hear it for Francesca!"

The applause is loud, and surprisingly uplifting. I cough out a little laugh and wave again- albeit weakly. I suddenly locate Mirabelle in the crowd and I'm taken aback the streams of tears flowing down her face.

"Now the male tribute for Sector 3 is-"

Wait- don't cry Mirabelle. I'm going to be okay, you know that right? Why are you crying anyway- Charlotte's the cry-baby of the family- and she's not crying right now... okay she looks pretty stunned, but she's not _crying_.  
I smile at her, hoping she'll return it. Mirabelle just looks back at me, her tear rate increasing, causing my smile to drop.

...am I the only one who doesn't understand the situation...? I thought the games were a good thing...? A huge yearly celebration... sure people are going to die, but that doesn't mean I have to... why has everyone assumed I'm going to die already?

"-Holland Wickbird!"

I take a moment from my thoughts to locate the stunned looking guy stumbling out of the crowd- and about two more seconds to recognise who it is.

_Holland_! He's a kid in my year- we share a few classes I think... textiles! That's it! How could I forget him- he's one of the few guys with light blue hair and swirling silver tattoos. A bubble of excitement swells inside as I realise that not only am I going to witness a game arena first hand- I get to do so alongside someone I know.

...until I lock eyes with the terrified guy and remember who Holland is.

And what the games are.

My smile completely vanishes as the escort congratulates us both and the crowd bursts into applause for their new, stunned tributes.

Oh my _god_. He's going to die! One of us has to die for the other to come back! God this- this- _sucks!_

"-let's win these games for Sector 3!"

**

* * *

**

Mirabelle and Charlotte come in together, though I kind of wish they hadn't. Charlotte is already crying when she comes in- and it eats up the first half of our last ten minutes together. It also doesn't help that just through the thin wall of velvet- I can hear Holland bawling his eyes out to whoever came to visit him.

"I sh-should have volunteered!" Charlotte wails. I hug her tightly around the shoulders as she rocks back and forth. "I w-was meant to go! M-My dream, i-it was a sign! I w-was meant to-"

"Stop that Charlie..." I hush. I look at Mirabelle for support, but all I get is another pair of tear filled eyes. "Shhh, it'll be okay... I'll win okay...?"

"H-How can you s-say that so c-casually?" Charlotte shrieks. I grip her tighter as she throws her hands to her face. "H-How c-c-can y-you...!"

Were I a little more ambitious, I would've explained to them the whole theory that because I exist I'll always exist in some way or another, and maybe if Charlotte hadn't been crying so hard I would make a joke about reincarnation. But for all my light-hearted ways and optimism- nothing could be said or done to make my little sister cease her tears.

"Mom and Dad are coming in together..." Mirabelle mumbles to me as Charlotte continues to scream into the hem of her dress. "Georgia went home with Carissa because she felt it was best for you to use your time on family..."

I can't argue with that, but I really wish I could say goodbye to Georgia and her daughter Carissa as well. I really like them- and they've treated me well since I moved into their home with Mom. It beat living with Dad and his ever changing roster of wives.

"C-Chess..." Charlotte looks at me with those mascara stained eyes. "H-How are you s-s-so calm...? A-Aren't you worried...?"

She begins to hiccough. I'd laugh at her if this situation wasn't so absolutely pitiful. I give her a smile and a reassuring shake, as I would always do in this sort of situation, and say as plainly as I can-

"I just have a... a good feeling that I'll be fine." I smile warmly as her tears seem to stop. "...okay? You should just worry about sending me the essentials while I'm in that arena- you got it?"

Charlotte hiccoughs again. Mirabelle looks at me in a mixture of misery and confusion- which I reply with a simple-

"Seriously... I'll be fine. Trust me."

They leave, a little less teary than when they came in- but obviously four times as miserable then at first. I brush the flakes of eye-glitter that Charlotte had dusted off on my dress- not noticing until I hear a soft coughing that Aldridge and Viv' have walked in

To my relief, neither of them is crying. Viv' looks like she might have just finished, but Aldridge just looks stony faced... which isn't that different from usual. I'm not sure what to say, so I smile instead.

"Did I look stupid...?" I ask, my voice rising at the end.

"No," Aldridge sits beside me and pats my knee. "No you looked wonderful Francesca. Just as you always do."

I laugh. Turning to Vivienne I crack another smile in the hopes that she'll return the favour- but no such luck. Instead she looks at me with an expression I've never seen her with before.

"Francesca... Chess," I blink at the use of my nickname. Vivienne _never _uses my nickname. "-this is serious. You're in a lot of danger."

"I know..." I say, a little surprised. "I'm not stupid Vi... Mom. I know what the Hunger Games are- we spent all last year visiting arenas remember-?"

"That was different," Viv' cuts me off. Her voice is stern and her face has gone steely. "This isn't _fun and games _Chess, you could die in there."

"-I won't," I sound like a thirteen year old saying they won't get drunk at a party. "Mom believe me- I'm not going to die. I'm just not."

Aldridge... Dad says nothing the whole time. Mom sits on the opposite side of me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and shaking her head.

"...you can't promise that... but you can promise you'll try your best..." I look at her blankly. "-do your best Chess... and maybe you can win..."

The buzz in my stomach twinges, and I stand up. Both Aldridge and Viv' look at me in surprise as I turn to face them with a blunt expression. They both look almost fearful until I crack a grin and offer one final peace sign.

"No Viv'," I jab the thumb at my chest. "I _will _win."

* * *

**Review to leave your thoughts. :DD**


	7. S3, Pretty Misfortune

**A Vivid Note: **so we've made it to the second half of Sector 3! I'm hoping to be done with the reapings by the end of next week, which is a _huge _task on me- but I'll do my best. I have my pyjamas and lots of warm blankets- all I need is a LOT of caffeine.  
(_And a LOT more noodles. You can help by being the loving readers you've been so far, a huge thank you to those who have been reviewing! It's really helping to spur me on_)

Also- I've mapped out our arena! I'm sure none of you will be surprised to hear that, since it's a Quell, and they're Capitol tributes- and because, hey, I love arenas that have bite- it's a real doozy. It took me about twenty minutes to figure it out in full, and I can tell you- you're going to _love _it- and the tributes are going to love it at first... and then hate it to the point of _death_.

Today's tribute was submitted by _Tastethecrayon_, and I admit that when I first read his character sheet- I cringed. I mean, squeaky, feminine and unable to be dirty? But since then I've had a HUGE inspiration explosion for this character and I'm excited to have him part of the tribute team.

Okay, let's get going and finish off Sector 3.  
Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Holland Wickbird; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 3._

Is it impossible for a _mandatory _event to be scheduled at a _reasonable _time? I would've thought that the people in charge of organising the reapings were full aware of how long it takes for a Capitol citizen to get ready-

Similar frustrated thoughts to this buzz endlessly through my head as I ruffle and unruffled my hair in an attempt to see which one suits the outfit I picked for today. I can't help but wonder if I should've dyed my hair a less... _primary _color. Blue doesn't exactly go with everything.

I can't help but wonder if I'm the only guy preoccupied with their appearance today. I'm pretty sure that everyone I know will try to look good- but I doubt it's their first priority. Me? Looking good is _always _a priority.  
-think of it logically. No one smiles at someone dressed shabbily. So how can I expect lady luck to smile on me if I don't dress to impress? Alright- I'm totally joking, but it won't hurt to do myself up to the best of my ability.

To explain, being 'pretty' sort of... runs in the family. I've grown up knowing that the best things in life are beautiful- and that everyone should do their part to make everything in life... the best. My Mom is a florist- so she does her best to make the world smelling fragrant and looking friendly- while my Dad is a stylist for the Games- so he's also doing his bit to make the _people _of the world look great.

Yeah- I can admit that it sounds silly at first, but believe me- when you grow up with this mindset, you actually grow up friendlier, healthier and generally happier than the people who grow up thinking the world is rotten.  
-I know that there are bad things in the world. I'm not retarded. I just, like... focus on the better stuff- other than the negatives like dying, sickness and... I guess gross stuff?

Without my mindset- I'd have probably gone _crazy _by this point. I'm made fun of because of my... style. There are a _lot _of older guys in the Capitol who dress femininely, but most of my generation have gone... well, butch. I stick out like a blue rose.  
Dad thinks I'm gay- and despite my requests- refuses to style me or even _teach _me how to style like he does. Mom, rather meekly, said he's worried that he's 'encouraging me'- but encouraging me to do what? Look nice?

-and what's with all the homophobia? I thought the Capitol was open to that sort of thing- NOT that I am or anything! I mean, I've considered it and... Well, I'm like fifty-fifty... maybe seventy-thirty- but that doesn't mean I'm flat out gay- _or _in denial, thank you!

Glancing in the mirror I can safely say that I look presentable. The form fitting wolf skin sweater still fits perfectly. I could easily let myself go outside like this- and I can't see any part of my make-up that needs touching up. I've only applied a thin coat of silver mascara to my lashes to offset the purple in my eyes and the silver tattoos that frame my face- and a light layer of lip balm on my lower lip.

No, it's not because I _like _putting on make-up, even though I do, but I actually _have _to wear lip balm. I bite my lip a lot, out of habit- and when I'm worried I tend to bite it even more.

-okay, I'll admit that it doesn't have to be strawberry flavoured- but that's just to make me feel better about the whole nervous lip-biting tic I seem to be developing. Honest.

It's not like I... have anyone to kiss anyway...

There's really no reason to stay in my room, so I make my way into the lounge room to pass the remaining time until Sector 3's reaping. I'm mildly tempted to work on my piano techniques- but the soft leather upholstery of the couch is more inviting. I let myself fall back onto the lounge before feeling around beside me for the remote and turning on the television to some CapitolNet news program.

I think it _might _a television drama, though I might be mistaken. It doesn't look like the sort of thing I'd usually be into- but I watch it anyway; it's better than nothing. There's a young woman- maybe even in her late teenage years- crying her poorly made-up eyes out to her mother who stands at the other side of the room.  
I only catch snippets of her wails, all of which are in a strange un-Capitol like accent. Something like 'worked so hard' and 'I did it for you'- and the Mother doesn't look impressed. Very quickly I become bored and begin to stare into space.

I'm surprised there isn't anything else on, something more in tune with the Games. That's all that seems to be on television the past few weeks anyhow. Not that I'm complaining- because I actually like the games... at least, I like the styling and the parade part of the games. Not so much the killing bits... which is essentially all of it.  
Blood makes me feel dirty, and I quite hate feeling dirty. It's not my thing.

-heck, I don't think it's the _Capitol_'s thing. I'm surprised that everyone is so enthralled each year watching twenty-four kids that live in grime get scrubbed squeaky clean and then forced into a, usually, muddy arena to dirty each other with their blood again.

I wish the games were just dressing people up and parading about in those cute costumes. I mean, that'd be more fun for everyone- wouldn't it? Plus it'd really give my Dad more work, and hopefully me too one day when I try for a job as a stylist...

...someone has to carry on Dad's legacy after all.

I don't have any siblings, since I'm an only child. I've never had to fight for the right to remote, vie for my parents' attention or anything like that. I can't tell if I'm missing out on anything or not- because everyone I've bothered to ask about it tells me I have it made.  
I can't argue that life is good, here in our quaint one-story Capitol home, just Mom, Dad and me- but it does feel like it's missing something. I make up for it with the 'pretty' lifestyle philosophy- oh, and my pet goldfish.

Can't help wondering if something else is missing though...

"Why Mama?" the television woman cries into her mother's dress. "Why?"

"...because..." the mother's steely eyes glare down at her cowering daughter. "-because you're not the daughter I wanted."

I don't know why, but the television words hit a nerve with me. I promptly turn of the television and decide that I should _probably_, like- have some sort of lunch before reaping. I don't doubt for a minute that I won't be chosen- but still... filling my tummy couldn't hurt.

-Plus it'd help distract me from the annoying sensation in my heartstrings that the television's poorly scripted drama has just caused.

...I wonder what it is...

**

* * *

**

"You'll be able to make it back home on your own?" Mom asks me, holding my hands in hers. "Really Holly?"

Holly is an affectionate nickname that Mom uses. She thinks it's cute, but I think it's kind of... well, lame. Then again I don't even like my real name- because all I know is that Holland was the name of this country that's like... on the other side of the world.  
...wait, wasn't that country destroyed...? Oh never mind.

"I'll be fine Mom, now hush- you're embarrassing me." I give her a little wink to calm her nerves. She's a lot more worried than I am. "You just wait in the crowd, get back to work and I'll see you at home for dinner."

"Okay..." Her eyes flicker to our hands before she finally lets go. "Good luck... sweetheart."

Still as embarrassing as 'Holly'- but it's a slight improvement. I head along to the '**16's**' section and sidle in with the guys already there- trying to ignore the ones who, despite being preoccupied with their worrying- still find it in their hearts to give me a repulsed look before shuffling away from me.

I'm generally a very friendly person, but this is, like- really getting on my nerves. My teeth find my bottom lip as I feel the words I so _dearly _wish I had the courage to say run through my mind.  
Even if I was gay, _which_- by the way- I'm _not _thank you very much- it's not a _contagious _disease or anything! Homophobia is so pre-21st century and this is like the... um... wait what century is this again?

"Everyone, quiet!"

I feel my body jolt a little in surprise from the sudden sternness of our Sector's new mayor. He's not very well dressed for a Capitol citizen, let alone someone elected to a mildly important position- and he's not sucked thin like all the other adults around here. I almost can't take my eyes off him because it's so _strange _seeing a large adult male in these parts.

"-we have been told to perform this reaping... as if we were District citizens..." The mayor looks fairly annoyed, as if we've all done something wrong. "I know this means that the other Sectors will be reading the Treaty... however I will not- as it means _nothing _to us."

I half expect him to explain _why _it means nothing to us- but the large man instead continues for a moment before letting the Treaty- which was clenched in his hand- fall to the podium as he calls over our Sector's escort. I feel pity from the bottom of my heart as this poor woman, named 'Lilia'- patters forwards on her little high heels- looking about warily as her wispy purple hair floats about her face.

She doesn't say anything before delving right into the drawing of the slips. I barely even have time to feel that split second of panic- the one where I worry that a close friend will be taken- before the woman pulls the slip to her bespectacled eyes and says-

"Francesca Emmeline... von Bardot?"

Oh! I know that girl! She's in my year isn't... she?

The crowd goes quiet for a moment before a hand shoots up in the female division of the crowd and the girl in question yelps out a very random 'Here!'; like she were being called in a roll. One of the rude boys nearby stifles a tiny chortle- and before I can even think of glaring in his direction his friend elbows him sharply in the ribs with a discerning frown on his face.

-don't let anyone say the Capitol is without morals. _Most _of us know when not to laugh... apparently.

Lilia calls out for volunteers- but it's more than apparent that no one wants to be a tribute. I don't blame them, because aside from the costumes, parade and the brief bout of fame- what do you get except a premature death? Most of us would prefer to dress up in our closets and aim for stardom as adults like everyone else- rather than risk our lives.

Still, I can't help but feel bad for Francesca. She's a nice girl, bubbly and very fun to be around at school. Her optimism is sort of like a bright light- that's infectious to everyone around her. We share a class in textiles I think, and maybe something else... I can't remember right now.

...I guess it doesn't matter... I feel a pang of upset in my heart. The odds of Francesca coming back aren't that great- guessing that there are going to be a _lot _more fearsome tributes out here in the Capitol.

"-l-let's hear it for Francesca!" Lilia cries, almost desperately while clapping her hands together.

I applaud, hoping that maybe this last sign of encouragement will reach Francesca and spur her on to do her best. She's up there- smiling awkwardly and waving to the crowd and the cameras. Judging from her outfit she did a good job this morning getting ready- and probably has a good shot at getting some sponsors.

...maybe I should consider sponsoring her...

"Now the male tribute for Sector 3 is-"

Ah! I had almost completely forgotten the second half of the reaping- which embarrasses me; so I focus harder on Lilia as she buries her hand in the ball of male tribute names. My name is in there five times... five times out of hundreds... thousands...  
Finally the panic begins to fume inside me. My breathing quickens and as Lilia opens her mouth I feel my own grow dry.

Don't be me. Please, _please _don't be me. Wait- who am I kidding? It won't be me- the odds are so great that it'd be near impossible for it to-

"-Holland Wickbird!"

...

...what?

Oh my god- that's not funny. It's a joke isn't it? She couldn't have picked one of my slips. I only have five! I just remembered that, I only had five-!

For a moment, I feel like I'm on the verge of fainting- but the guys around me start to move and a pathway up the stairs is made more than apparent. Slowly I stumble my way up the stairs- staring at the escort and Francesca in a mixture of utter horror and disbelief.

This can't be happening. Why won't someone just go ahead and tell me that this is all a joke? Or better yet- a dream. Come on, wake up Holly- it's _all a dream_-!

My terrified eyes find Francesca's- and in that split second I see her calm eyes immediately fade to a state of complete terror. Her smile vanishes and the crowd bursts into applause like before as Lilia raises her arm behind us- Sector 3's new tributes.

"-let's win these games for Sector 3!"

...please tell me that at least... at least I look good up here... right? Oh who am I kidding- tell me this isn't happening...!  
My eyes find my Mother in the crowd- one of the few people not clapping in our brief moment of sunlight. I open my mouth to word something to her, but nothing comes to mind. Instead I just watch as my Mother- my dear Mama the florist... breaks into tears.

**

* * *

**

"I don't want to die! I don't want to be part of these games!"

I haven't stopped crying since Mom walked into the tent. It was too hard not to after watching her break down amidst a crowd of cheering people. Besides, out of both my parents- _she's _always been there for me, and this is really hard for both of us.

My Dad won't be coming to visit me. If I'm lucky, and right now I'm like- _really _doubting my stature with lady luck at this point- I'll get him as a stylist. He left yesterday to prepare for his work for the Quell.  
I wonder how he's going to react when he hears- 'hey? Guess what? Your son is a tribute!'

"It'll be okay... s-somehow it'll be okay..." that's all my Mom seems to be able to get out. She's crying too, but not half as heavily as I am. "O-Oh Holland I... I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry I c-can't... I c-c-can't-"

I don't know what Mom can't do, because she's incapable of finishing the sentence and I'm too busy crying my eyes out to ask her to. Instead I just bury my face in her shoulder and weep the silver mascara into her blouse while she does the same to my sweater. Perhaps I'd care in another situation- but not right now. She could blow her nose on it for all I care- I just want to be with her.

...my god, this is it isn't it? This is my final moments with my Mother? What should I say to her? Thank you, I'm sorry... I really, _really _don't want to say anything like that to her- because part of me hopes that this isn't true.  
There's got to be a way to come back to her. A way that doesn't involve a satin lined coffin or the dirty blood of twenty-three other kids on my hands.

-that's if I even _survive _past the bloodbath! How am I going to survive in an arena with no shower, killer teenagers and the same clothes on my back for weeks on end?

"M-Mom... I-I love you..." I manage to choke out through the tears. "I l-love you _so, so _much..."

"I love you too..." her tears are beginning to stem, but she's coughing to catch her breath. "Holland... oh Holland... I was so worried this would happen... I prayed so hard that this wouldn't happen..."

I want to ask her why she prayed, _why_ she was worried- but I can't bring myself to mutter and whimper anything besides 'I love you.' I just can't let her leave here knowing that my last words were something as insensitive as 'Why did you doubt my luck?'

"...I-I'll sponsor you..." she whispers. "I'll fight hard t-to keep you alive... so... you stay alive too... d-don't lose sight of yourself..."

"I won't..." is all I can mumble. "I love you Mom..."

I don't understand her all too well. Lost sight of myself? I think the only thing I can be certain of in an arena filled with things designed to kill me is- yeah, me. Also, we're pretty poor for a Capitol family. I mean- Dad's a stylist but they have to spend a lot of money on their own work- and Mom being a florist? I can't see her buying me anything too extravagant...

...wait... what am I even going to need in an arena? My hands begin to tremble at the mere realisation that I have to worry about this now. I don't even know how to use a bow and arrow or a knife or even stuff like a _sword_. I'm not that kind of guy!

-then the peacekeeper comes in, and the crying starts afresh as my Mother is told it's time to go. I grab her hands fleetingly in mine- but the Peacekeeper is fairly stern and directs her away quickly. I swallow back a sob as the velvet flap closes on the tent and my Mother is lost to the other side I can't see.

...

...I'm going to die... I'm going to die and be a _stupid _debt for my family for years to come... they'll have to watch me dying on television all the time- knowing that their only son is dead to a Game his father stylizes!

I can feel the philosophy of life being beautiful crumbling away at my feet. As I push my hands into my eyes- desperate to stem the tears that won't stop flowing- I allow myself to sob freely as I know that no one else will be coming to visit me.

There's no beauty in this. Nothing is pretty in this situation-!

I'm going to die.

-and there's _no beauty in death_!

* * *

**Review to leave your thoughts/opinions and what not! :3**


	8. S4, Diligent Bride

**A Vivid Note: **alright, we're one fourth of the way there! I know that doesn't sound like much, but it's a huge step- and we're slowly but surely making our way to the real grit of the games.  
Thank you all for being so patient. Trust me; I'm doing my best to write as often and as well as possible- because that's what you all deserve.  
Also- if you have **any songs that you think I should listen to in relation to a tribute (**_even one that's not yours_) - please, tell me the title and the artist and I'll give it a listen for extra writing material. Odds are I'll already have the song, because my library is _huge_.

This tribute was submitted by _Twirlgirl821_, and I'm sure you'll all be pleased to meet her. She was a little difficult to write, but I hope that I managed the task.

Alright then, let's get going! We have nine more Sectors to polish off!  
Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Minerva Nanaia; 18 years; the Capitol Sector 4._

There's so much to do today, I'm almost freaking out under the sheer weight of it all. I have a plan for what to do today. First there's my hair, make-up and get dressed for this reaping, clean Tweet's cage, feed him, write another four thousand word installment for my next book, and _then _I'm meant to go meet up with Vidar and discuss potential wedding venues.

It's a little hard to believe that life only gets _harder _from this point. I haven't even begun work my portfolio with Mom and Dad for my Gamemaker interview.

I feel like a turtle, carrying _everything _in life on my back at once. I'd love to ask someone to help, but I don't want to bother them any more than I already have- which isn't all that much anyway, but still. Principles; they're important.

At least I've finished with my hair, and my make-up too for the most part. I've decided to go with the natural waviness of my hair- and, to match with the soft brown of my hair, I've gone with the more natural shades for lipstick and eye shadow.  
Okay, so I know that the Capitol is all about being eccentric and out there- but I'm generally a mature girl, and I think I can really rock this natural look. Except that it's not _entirely _natural seeing as I haven't gotten around to dying the light blue streak out of my hair yet.

Doesn't matter; I'll work with it somehow. But it is _going _before the wedding.

Getting ready for this reaping is actually surprisingly relaxing for me. It's given me the time to just sit and think while I work through the tasks of getting ready. I don't usually have the time to myself to just 'sit and think'- seeing as I'm just so busy all of the time.  
What with my strenuous writing, my crazy family, recreational hunting, my marriage and everything else in life- the simple things such as preparing to go out have really eluded me for the past couple of months.

-I can't help but wonder if I'm the only eighteen year old with this kind of workload.

Vidar proposed to me last month, just a little after I succeeded in getting my book published. At first I was shocked, but I said yes right away. I've loved him since midway through high school- and here in the Capitol marrying young is fairly common.  
-then again, so is divorcing, but that is _not _on my agenda.

Looking at the engagement ring, I can't help but wonder _how _he managed to afford it. My family is pretty wealthy- even for a Capitol family. Of course, my Dad is head Gamemaker, so it's only to be expected.  
-Vidar on the other hand... well, his family is fairly stable- but not nearly as rich as ours. He's nineteen and has a job of his own, but I don't think that he could have earned enough to buy this ring. His being poor is not a problem in my eyes- but it did raise suspicions in my family as to why he wants to marry me- despite my frequent reminders that he _does _love me.

I was pretty angry when my sister insinuated that he was marrying me for the money. In fact, I was so angry that I can't really remember the most of it. I remember shouting at her- and then it just gets hazy. She didn't talk to me for a few days after that.

...okay, so perhaps doing everything myself has had its effects on my social well being- the main factor being my ever apparent temper- but there's so little I can do to relieve the stress. Writing and archery were my main outlets- but now writing has become more of a chore and I can't go shooting until this _Quell _is over.

As I choose between the two dresses I had picked out for the Quell- I ponder a bit more on the Quell. It's the first Quell I've ever been alive for, and- of course- its implications mean that I am up for reaping- which is a shame because in just six or so months I would've been nineteen and out of the reaping anyway.  
-I'm not worried about being picked, because the odds are entirely in my favour- and I'm guessing that this year really won't be much of a fighting year anyway.

-Capitol teenagers aren't fighters. Everyone knows this, _especially _us. District kids can fight because of their daily tasks like fishing, mining and cattle wrangling. The best we can do is our recreational hunting and self-defense classes- and they barely count as proper experience.

Usually, I love the games. The drama, the costumes and- sadly, yes- the fighting; I've grown up with it. Plus the fact that my parents are directly involved in how the games work has affected me too. If I hated the games my life here in their home would have been _very _difficult.  
Even at a young age, I remember watching as my Father's sketches of arenas came to life over a period of years- and then, when the twenty-three tributes had come and gone and a victor crowned, I would get to visit them. I'll never forget holding in my hands the sketches of the scattering of sandy, palm-tree covered islands – and then looking up as the palm fronds waved through the salty breeze.

-I think that was when I decided I wanted to be a Gamemaker too. In what other job can you watch as places that could only exist in your imagination come to life, and then become beloved by the entire world?

Okay, well maybe not the entire world- but all of Panem at least.

After two and a half hours of solid working, I stand before the mirror and examine the result of my labors. My brown hair falls in soft waves over my shoulders, ending just above my chest. I've chosen a light chiffon green dress which accentuates my best features; my legs and chest region- and deceptively tucks away those that I'm not so proud of- being my lack of hips and rather muscular stomach.

-I did work hard to achieve the frame I did, but now I can't help but feel a little frustrated with how it turned out. I don't like having a toned stomach and upper arms. All I really wanted was just a flat stomach.  
-my arms aren't that bad though. Only in certain lights can you really notice it- and that's only if you can draw your attention away from the silver flower tattoo imprinted on my arm.

Overall, I look decent enough to stand in a crowd. I decide not to pull on the green flats I chose for today until it's time to go, so I leave them by my dresser. I can hear Tweets caroling away to no one in particular. My brother and sister ignore my sweet little mockingjay- and Mom and Dad aren't home because all Hunger Games personnel left for work a week ago.

Tweets doesn't stop singing when I approach him. I smile warmly as I reach into the cage, which itself is propped up beside a window, taking a moment to stroke his soft black crest before taking the dish of seed husks out. He preens himself for a moment before delving right back into his soft chime.  
I've had Tweets for a year or so now. I love him, because he warmed up to me so fast and kept me company on the long nights of writing. Plus he's quick to pick up songs- and he's been singing the same sweet lullaby for about a week now.

It's not really a special song, just a lullaby sung in Panem to help children fall sleep. It became really popular once it was sung in the Hunger Games to a dying tribute- but I can't really remember which game that was.  
It's a nice tune though. My mother says that whenever she hears it she feels like crying, but it makes me feel sort of... inspired. Like any day I listen to it will be a great, wonderful day.

-Tweets sings it beautifully. I already feel like today is going to be a day unlike any other. I'm sure Vidar would tease me in that loving way for thinking so- but I don't mind. He always seems to say stuff like that too.

"Beautiful work Tweet," I coo as I place the tray back inside the cage. "You're a wonderful singer."

He doesn't understand a word I'm saying, I'm sure. But he hops from his perch and begins to peck away at his now filled tray of seeds. I close the cage door and stretch a little as I wonder how I am to pass the time until the reaping.

-suddenly I remember how much I have to do, and decide that it's best that I get started on my writing now so that when I come back from the reaping I can get straight into the wedding plans with Vidar.

I feel like sighing, but Tweets begins singing again in a way that instantly makes me feel that there is no need to be so stressed out. Instead, I inhale deeply and head back to my writing desk in my room.

A great, wonderful day... it's sure to be.

**

* * *

**

"Okay so we'll just meet up back at home, yeah?" my sister says, buffing her nails in a bored sort of manner. "Um... good luck and stuff."

My brother grunts and I say nothing- as there's very little to say to one another. Though the three of us are siblings, we've grown apart fairly quickly and even the mutual family love we share seems to have vanished.  
At first my dislike for them stemmed only from their ridiculous alterations that they tainted themselves with. It's embarrassing having a brother with green skin and a sister with yellow skin- and when _both _of them insist on having neon colored eyes; you just can't help but feel a little revolted.

-neon is _not _an attractive color on them; or on anyone actually.

Since our parents aren't here to see us off, the three of us just split up and head to our age sections. The '**18's**' section is surprisingly small in comparison to the rest- as there are mainly younger Capitol teenagers, like twelve year olds and such.

The girls I stand with aren't my close friends, but we share a brief nod and exchange a few words before falling silent from the lack of things left to say. It's plain to see that everyone else is feeling highly nervous- and I seem to be one of the only girls who aren't panicking over having their name pulled.  
I thought about it logically though. The odds of me getting picked? Really, _really _unlikely.

So why worry? I had more important things to do. A _lot _of important things.

The newly elected mayor taps meekly on the microphone, but no one seems to pay attention to her. I can see that the poor woman is obviously one of the many who are opposed to the Quell- because the frown on her face could _not _be any more defined then it already is. It's a little strange seeing her contrasted with the young, bubbly looking white haired escort behind her.

"-e-everyone?" The crowd is quietening down for her, steadily. "Please be quiet, and we may begin..."

Her hands are shaking. I feel my heart go out to this poor woman, who probably didn't want her first act as mayor of Sector 4 to be initiating the reaping, shakily makes her way through the Treaty of Treason.  
-then I suddenly think to myself, _why are they reading the Treaty of Treason_? We aren't _actually _a District- so it doesn't really make much sense. Then again, this whole Quell doesn't make sense- but I don't dwell on that long.

She finishes up after a few moments, and- after a long, breathless pause- steps back as the youthful escort skips up to the microphone and, while bouncing up and down on her heels, introduces herself as Snowflake and expresses her 'sincere gratitude' to be the escort for Sector 4.

I can hear a girl nearby mutter curse words under her breath at the woman. I politely stare at the escort, but can't help but wonder what she possibly could have done to deserve such a cold attitude from the audience. She's just doing her job.

Snowflake flounces to the table on the stage that holds the reaping balls. I wonder silently how many names exactly are inside them. I can see the papers are almost bursting from inside- and when she sinks her hand inside the female tribute's ball several flutter from the top and land somewhere on the ground, safe by pure luck.  
My heart begins to flutter slightly in the terse moment as everyone holds their breath. Snowflake, still smiling as she reads the name- announces as clear as day-

"Minerva Nanaia!"

...

Excuse me?

The girls around me react before I do. There are several loud gasps and hurried points as I, still in a slight state of confusion, step forwards from my place. Everyone seems to rearrange themselves to get a better look at the girl who was chosen. Me. I'm the girl who was chosen.

...wait. Wait, really?

My heart begins to pound as I go to mount the first step. This is really happening. I'm really going to be a tribute? My heart beats faster as I ascend the steps and find myself shaking Snowflake's hand, who congratulates me on being chosen before going on to ask for volunteers who don't seem to exist.

I was chosen. I'm a tribute in the Quarter Quell? Wow. Just... wow. It seems like a lot to process with everyone staring up at me in a mixture of alarm, pity and curiosity. Does that mean that I'm going to go through all that parade stuff and the interviews and...

All too suddenly in dawns on me, the most obvious part of the games that I had inexplicably forgotten in my moment of dazed confusion.

I'm going to have to _kill _people.

...oh god... the realisation suddenly takes place to a much more childish and almost mocking one.

I'm going to miss my _wedding_!

"Congratulations Minerva Nanaia, our female tribute!" Snowflake has repositioned herself by the second glass ball, completely ignoring my new state of alarm. "Now, our male tribute is..."

For a brief second I wish that Vidar wasn't nineteen, so we could fight and win these games together, but then I quickly remember that only one of us- if that- could return home alive. The engagement ring suddenly feels very hot and heavy on my finger as our preppy escort calls out the male tribute's name.

"Vinel Greggorus!"

...Vinel...? It sounds ridiculously similar to Vidar. However when 'Vinel' walks up to the stage, I can see that he's nothing like my Vidar at all. For one, he's chosen not to wear a shirt, his skin is _purple_- and three- he's clearly anorexic. Spying Vidar in the crowd I can see a look of pure agony flashing across his face as Vinel stares blankly out at the crowd- plainly in a state of shock.

Snowflake forcibly makes us shake hands by grabbing our opposite hands in hers and placing them together. Vinel shakes my hand for a few seconds too long and I pull my left hand away and grip it tightly- feeling my engagement ring dig into the palm of my hand.

I have to... I have to go to the games with _this _guy?

"Congratulations Sector 4!" Snowflake cries out in her final moments of fame. Her smile stretches from ear to ear and I'm finally starting to see why that girl disliked her bubbly attitude. "-and let's have a big hand for our tributes! Let's pray that they bring Sector 4 the winner of the Quarter Quell!"

-wow. After years of liking the games, I think this is the first time I've ever felt genuinely put off by this sort of display. I wonder if it shows on my face, and if Mom and Dad in their office are watching in shock.  
Remembering this however, the idea that I'll soon see my parents- calms me down somewhat. So suddenly a plan begins to blossom inside my mind.

-And maybe- _maybe _with this plan... maybe I can live.

**

* * *

**

To my surprise, Vidar actually begins to cry when he comes into the tent where I am to say my 'final goodbyes'. They call it this with the air that the goodbye is temporary- but I can't help remembering that for twenty-three of the tributes picked today- it's all too permanent.

I'm surprisingly stone faced for a female tribute that had just fare-welled her brother and sister- but it was less than pleasant. My siblings had made it more than apparent over the course of our time as family that they didn't feel the brotherly or sisterly love that was popularised in the media- and the goodbye had only confirmed that.  
My sister sat there and said, in a sort of half-hearted sort of way- 'try to win I guess.' – While my brother didn't say anything. He attempted a smile but looked away all too soon.

-god I'm glad I have Vidar. I just wish that our goodbye wasn't so sad. He stares at me with those gorgeous eyes of his- and even though I continuously run my fingers through his hair and tell him not to worry- it just seems to make him more upset.

"...how are you so calm..." he manages to say. He takes my hand, the one with the engagement ring in his. "Minerva... you could be killed..."

"I have a good shot in this..." I murmur. Bringing his face close to mine, I place a soft kiss on his forehead before I go on. "I know how to use a bow and arrow- and I've done research of plants for my books... I have a better shot than the others will."

"...but..." Vidar still looks downcast. In the silence I hear a woman crying in Vinel's tent. "...god... I wish I could be as calm as you..."

I smile, but it's weak. I'm calm now, but only because my moment of panic on the stage has passed. There's no way I can win the games if I don't have a steady head- and I have to start now. I continue to brush Vidar's hair from his forehead.

"...we'll have to reschedule the wedding..." I whisper. Vidar's eyes suddenly go wide. "Make it for when the games end... when I come back."

"-Minerva-"

"-I'm coming back." I cut him off before he can start with his doubts. I place a finger to his lips, drawing it away and then placing it to mine. "I promise. I said I'd marry you, and I will."

Vidar is silent. My smile remains on my face, but it takes every ounce of strength that I have. All the energy I had built up from this morning to tackle today has dispersed, leaving me feeling very exhausted.

"-excuse me," the two of us look up as the Peace Keeper looks into the tent. "-but it's time for you to go."

I look from the Peace Keeper to Vidar, and feel a wave of sadness wash over me. I won't be seeing him again for a while- and I was really hoping I could cheer him up again before I had to leave. Right now, as he stands to his feet- he still looks like he could break down into tears at any moment.

"I love you." I say simply, giving his hand a firm squeeze. "Okay?"

He says nothing. Then- suddenly he pulls me from my seat. I let out a slight shout of surprise as he forcefully pushes his lips against mine- holding my head in one hand and steadying me with the other on my back.  
I can't breathe, and I suddenly feel very dizzy. I'm vaguely aware that I open my mouth and begin to kiss back, but all too soon Vidar pulls away from me and hugs me so tightly it feels like my shoulders might break.

"V-Vidar-"

"I love you," Vidar chokes out, drowning my plea. "-_so much_."

We share one final look, and then he's gone. My legs feel shaky, and as I try to regain my composure by sitting down- all I can think about is that final pained look in my fiancés eyes. Coupled with what sounds like Vinel's own sobs from the adjacent tent- I feel my strong composure begin to wilt away in the wake of my own tears.

...I have to win. I can win, and I will.

This ring on my finger is not just my engagement ring. It's a promise between me and Vidar; a promise that we'll always love each other, and that we'll grow old together.

I won't break that promise.

I'll win. I promise.

I'll win.

* * *

**Review to tell me what you think/feel! :) remember the song suggestions.**


	9. S4, Beautiful Liar

**A Vivid Note: **whew! This is possibly the first time I've ever experienced cramps in my fingers from typing for so long! But it's not so hard, because I'm not the only one writing this. _You _helped write the tributes, and I actually have help from my friends and family on how to go about writing this story in the ways of plot.  
Particular thanks goes to my boyfriend who- with his stunning knowledge of movie death/rape/mutilation (_not personal experience of course, thank god_), who has helped me figure out some of the plot points that should be covered in the story with the characters you guys gave me.

Okay! Our tribute today was submitted by _BookAddictForLife_- and oh boy, am I happy to see him. He's just the sort of male character I was hoping to receive, and writing him out has helped me realise that I finally have!  
-he can come off as an arrogant, self-obsessed sort of narcissist, but I think that deep down he's a good guy. I wonder if you'll think so too.

So? Let's rock, rock on!  
Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Vinel Greggorus; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 4._

It's hard being naturally good looking. For one, beautiful people are immediately detested by those who aren't, they're judged as shallow and stupid- and no one pays attention to the things they say because they're too preoccupied judging the cover.

-this being said, _I _am good looking.

Up until now, my life has been fairly smooth- but not without its bumps along the way. I mean for one, I'm constantly surrounded by people who are either too stupid to realise the kind of person I am or too judgemental to get to know me- and two, I have to harbour all my innermost thoughts and feelings to myself because no one else could possibly understand them.

I know how pompous and arrogant that sounds- but it's completely true. I have the whole package but people only think I'm shiny on the outside and hollow on the inside. To me, _that _sounds pretty pompous and arrogant of them, because they're sticking to their judgment.

That's just how life is though I guess. For good looking people.

It only takes me half an hour to pick out my clothes for the reaping. Usually I'm at my best when I'm deciding what to wear- but this instance is painfully different. I mean, I've never had to organise an outfit for a day where I'll watch people I _know _being called up to be killed on live television.  
-Of course, I'm still dressing as I would any other public event- but there's a very bitter taste in my mouth for this occasion. And I'm not stupid- I know why I feel this way.

I used to love the Hunger Games. Who doesn't; aside from the more obvious answer being the Districts? All the guys I know love them, as do a good bulk of the girls. There's everything anyone could want in a show- drama, romance, action- and there's usually a bit of comedy mixed in there if you look hard enough... and if you can find death funny.  
-Me, I always liked the styling part of the games. I'm not gay or nothing- I just _always _found myself totally enraptured when they took those twenty-four scraggly, dirty little kids and... made them shine, for the first and- for a lot of them- last time.

-of course, the attractiveness of these kids was only temporary- since blood and dirt rarely make for an attractive look- but it would inspire me to work harder on myself. I'd work out by going swimming, rock climbing, hunting- and I've become pretty toned, tanned and just generally buff as a result.  
-but then I went ahead and dyed myself purple, which didn't have the effect I wanted it to. It clashes a lot with my tattoos- and I'm seriously considering changing it to a more suitable color- like green or red.

...yeah, definitely red.

But in relation to the Hunger Games, there's a reason why I now say 'used to love'. No, it's not because I've had a sudden rush of sympathy for the District kids, think murder is wrong or I'm a vegetarian- no. It's pretty much the same reason a lot of Capitol teens are dropping out of the Hunger Games fan base.

Why can _anyone _tell me, are they allowing a Quell that sends _Capitol's own children _into the games? It makes no sense- seeing as the games were meant to punish the Districts. So why are they punishing _us_? Weren't we the ones attacked by the rebels?

I've lost a huge amount of respect for our government since the reading of the card- especially the President. Didn't he take an oath that promised he wouldn't allow this sort of thing? I can remember how stunned his voice became after he realised what he was reading.

_"On the one hundred and twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that no one can question the absolute power of the Capitol, the tributes will be reaped from the Capitol itself."_

Even over the television set, you could hear a pin drop throughout all of Panem. The Capitol, the Districts- everywhere. It only took a few moments for all hell to break lose. It took about eighteen squadrons of Peace Keepers to regulate the central again- and I heard that in the Districts there had been massive celebration.

-I couldn't believe what I had heard then, and I still can't. What's worse is that the President had the nerve to stand up again the next morning and say that- even though a meeting of Gamemakers and city officials had discussed it all night- the games were _still _going to go ahead.

...what the heck is that? They call themselves a government? Why do we even _have _them if they're stupid enough to go along with the Quell? They can't even protect their own 'next generation' from a stupid reality television game that _they _created to punish rebels!

I swear, when I have kids I have half a mind to raise them as rebels just to spite this whole Quell.

"...damn it..."

All this dwelling on the Quell has made me more frustrated and bitter than before- so I give myself one once over in the mirror before shutting my bedroom door and heading downstairs for some sort of 'breakfast-lunch' meal. Brunch I guess.  
I'm not going to wear a shirt, because I never do. I've instead settled on a pair of worn black trousers and a few cuffs around my wrists. I don't really want to wear shoes- but I do, because there's a pretty good chance that I'm going to get my toes trod on my the meat heads I call my friends.

-Hey, don't get me wrong- I love 'em. But they're idiots. They evidently _didn't _get the whole package- like I did.

Lulu is scratching about at the back door to be let in. I'm guessing neither of my Moms have gotten up yet- they tend to sleep in when they're not thrilled about the day- so I open the door and take a moment to scruff up her fur.

"Hey girl," I croon. She pants and bounces about excitedly, getting saliva all over my pants leg. "Time for breakfast? Time for breakfast?"

She's almost like every other girl who's ever around me- silly, fluffy hair, big doe eyes and a mouth that never closes. I won't ever tell the other girls- but Lulu is better company than any of them. Even if the human girls _do _appreciate my effort to look good more than my dog does.

I never eat that much for breakfast- but I decide that today _is _special- not necessarily in a good way- so I begin preparing some bacon and eggs. As I work Lulu is on the verge of going crazy from the aroma- and the smell and sounds of breakfast cooking even goes as far as waking up my Mothers.

Flashing a million dollar smile to the first one through the door- I point to the breakfast table as she stares at me- half shocked but still half asleep.

"Vinel... are you really making breakfast sweetie...?" she says in a daze. She pulls her dressing gown tighter and sits down at the table. "You could've woken me up..."

"Nah, it's fine Mom." I open the refrigerator doors, pulling out the orange juice. "Thought I'd do something special for today to cheer you two up."

I hear a childish squeal from the doorway, and sure enough- the second of my Mothers has awoken to my cooking. I have to steady myself from falling flat on the stove top as she flings her arms around my middle and hugs me tightly.

"Good morning sweetheart!" She joins my other Mother by the table. "-and good morning to you too~"

As the two of them express their sleepy affection- I take the moment of weakness to slip Lulu a strip of bacon. She gobbles it up faster than I can look back up to the stove.

"Vinel-" I glance back to the breakfast table, a little worried by the concerned look staring back at me. "Are you... aren't you worried about today?"

Crap. I'd been hoping not to have this conversation this morning. Both of my mothers, my dear sweet mothers who have never intended harm on anyone- stare at me with those fearful eyes- making me suddenly feel very uneasy about the reaping that's to come.

I force a grin at the two of them, feeling the charade wash over me.

"Not at all, I mean- the odds are totally mine." I wink and immediately see the effects of relief take over the two women. "Don't worry you guys, there's no reason to."

...

I'm a wonderful liar. It's one of my many talents, but it's the only one I don't brag about out loud. The reason for that is- if I did, no one would trust me- and I wouldn't be able to protect my mothers from these sorts of scenarios.

That's why. That's why I'll hide away my great knack at lying. Push it deep down inside the 'pretty little package' and lock it up tight. Right next to my childish desire to one day have a father.

And there they will stay, forever, to collect dust and be forgotten.

-Because I would rather _never _voice my feelings and let my sweet Mothers think everything is as they think it is than destroy that hope. Just as I'll never correct the pompous and arrogant fools that behind all the looks and dashing smiles- there's a real guy in here.

None of them will ever know.

**

* * *

**

"We're just over there, okay?" my mother points into a part of the crowd. "If you can't find us we can meet up out the front of-"

"Mom, I'll be fine!" I laugh. "If I can't find you I'll just head home on my own. Okay?"

The ride here was agonising. Both of my mothers had begun crying- and took almost all of my energy to calm them down again. It was hard, and now their faces almost threaten me that they'll start up again.  
I know that to avoid this I have to go wait in my section of the crowd now, before they have the chance. With a quick kiss on both of their cheeks- I give my Mothers a hug goodbye before they even realise I'm going.

"See you afterward." I say simply. "Don't get trampled by the other parents."

And that's it. Without allowing them to get too emotional- I quickly make my way into the area marked off '**17's**'. I'm relieved to see Kave, my neighbour- whom I also get along with pretty well, already waiting there. Immediately I can tell that he's a little on edge- because he keeps running his fingers through his stark white hair.

"Nervous?" I ask, with a hint of a smirk. "Is Raiy over with the other sixteens?"

I already know the answer, but I'm trying to distract Kave as well. I had gotten away from my Mothers because I wanted to be in the company of someone who _wasn't _paranoid out of their mind. Luckily Kave is easily distracted.

"Yeah, but I kind of wish he wasn't," Kave looks at me with a rueful expression. "We had a bit of a fight before... before we walked over here."

I make an 'mm' sound, indicating for him to continue- which he does.

"-he said he was worried about being picked, so I told him not to be such a worrywart..." He groans to himself, putting his palm to his face. "...he got really angry at me... I shouldn't have been so insensitive..."

"It's okay, he won't get chosen," I say simply. There's little else I _can _say. "It'll be someone you don't know or care about probably."

Harsh words, but they do manage to cheer my neighbour up. He claps me in a thankful way on the back as we direct our attention to the stage where the plainly nervous mayor sends ripples of static feedback over us by tapping on the microphone head.

"-e-everyone?" Why is this woman mayor? Who elected someone who's so obviously conflicted with stage fright? "Please be quiet, we may begin..."

Ugh. The terrible taste in my mouth from hating the Capitol government this morning is back. Why are we so incompetent when it comes to electing figure heads? I'm pretty darn sure that the original America didn't have to face this problem... well, I'm actually not... that was a long time ago...

No one is listening to the Treaty of Treason, because it means pretty much zip with any of us. Everyone is quiet though, out of courtesy I guess. The inner rebel in me wants to boo her, or do something equally disrespectful- but I resist the urge.  
Poor woman. Poor, stupid woman. I wonder if she knows that no one cares about what she's reading. I can't help but wonder if the District kids think these thoughts too, each and every year. Perhaps they don't- seeing as the treaty _is _directed at them.

Finally she's done. The escort, aptly named 'Snowflake' with her white hair that matches Kave's, bounces forwards and announces how proud she is to be our Sector's escort. Bah. Stupid and not even a looker. I wonder where all the pretty escorts went- the ones who seemed to be in full supply back around the fourth Quell, judging by the film footage.

As she reaches into the female's reaping ball, I watch in curious silence as the heavy fear sinks over the crowd. Even I begin to feel a little uneasy as her bright red lips form the name-

"Minerva Nanaia!"

That's not a name I know. I can hear a few spare intakes in the crowd as they begin to move- but by the look on the guys faces around me- no one nearby is related to her. I perch up on my toes to get a better look. From the back, I can't tell much other than the fact she's quite tall and has brown hair.

...then she turns around.

_Whoah boy-_!

She's gorgeous. The full, wavy chocolate coloured hair, those shining blue eyes... if this were a party I'd go and strike up a conversation with her. All too quickly I remember that she's pretty much been sentenced to death, and I let my heels touch back to earth.

That's a pity. If someone had to go, it would have been nice if it were at least someone deserving to die. She looks like she has a full life ahead of her.

Well, _had_.

Snowflake's back on the microphone, congratulating Minerva on her win- apparently there had been no takers for volunteers- and then she's off to the male reaping ball. I feel my shoulders stiffen by instinct- and, even with the hot midday sun beating down- I begin to feel a chill down my back. Wearing a shirt might have been a good idea after all.

In her fingers go... and then her entire hand. Snowflake closes her eyes- as if the reaping ball wasn't fair enough- and then she draws her hand back out- opening them again to read the name-

"Vinel Greggorus!"

I instantly stop breathing.

She's got to be _kidding_. My name wasn't even in there that much!

I turn to Kave as my mouth goes dry and I begin to feel very cold. I want him to tell me there's been a mistake. But he just stares at me, eyes as wide as saucers as the crowd of guys all around me begin to step away to clear the way to the stage.

This is impossible. What, my name was in there six times. _Six _times. Six out of what- thousands? There is loads of guys here- _why _was my name pulled?

My limbs creak into action- but I'm shaking from the sudden shock and I can't stop panicking in my head. I'm gonna get _killed_- killed by Capitol kids who shouldn't even be in the Hunger Games. There's no way this is right. No way.

I stare up at the pretty girl I had just announced as dead in my mind. Her eyes are pained- and her left hand clenched at her side. I take my place beside her and stare out over the crowd- desperately trying to remember where my Mothers had said they would be.

There are no volunteers. Snowflake congratulates me with a smile so similar to my fake smile that I almost feel insulted. Without realising, the escort turns the girl, Minerva- and me to each other- forcing our hands together in a handshake.

"Congratulations Sector 4!" I don't know what to do. I leave my hand out for too long and Minerva pulls her hand away, wincing. "-and let's have a big hand for our tributes! Let's pray that they bring Sector 4 the winner of the Quarter Quell!"

No, screw that. Screw winning for this Sector that didn't exist! My breathing increases as the crowd applauds wildly for the two of us. I don't want to win for that! I don't want to get my hands dirty with the blood of other Capitol kids for _that_!

But as hard as I look- I can't find my Mothers in the crowd. So I stand on the stage- feeling more alone than I ever have in my entire life as the spotlight I had so often envisioned upon me panned around in the shape of a camera.

...no way... just... no way...

**

* * *

**

I can't stop them crying this time. I can't even stop myself from crying. All I'm aware of is the flurry of arms that are squeezed around my head and the two faces of my mothers screaming their hysterical cries.

There's nothing we can say. What do you say to someone when you know that _this _will be the last time you ever see one another? I've never thought about it... I should've thought about it... damn it... damn it...

"I love you..." I manage to croak out through the tears. I'm sure my make-up is running, because my eyes are beginning to burn. "Don't forget that... I love you guys..."

One of them can't even make intelligible sounds anymore. Instead she lets out a long wail and buries her face in my shoulder. The other is gripping my hand so tightly that I can no longer feel my fingers.

"...I wish..." I turn as my Mother places one hand on her partner's, the other still gripped around mine. "...oh... Vinel... I wish we... we could've had more time together..."

"...me too..." I say quietly. I wish that more than anything. Aside from that this is all just a huge dream. "At... at least we had breakfast... huh?"

Terrible joke at a terrible time, but she sniffs a little as she tries to smile. There's no helping the other, who continues to sob her eyes out- and probably isn't even aware of what's being said.

So... this is it. This will be my last time spent with my Mothers. I grip their hands in mine and take a shaky breath as I hold back my own tears with all the strength I can muster. The little box I had locked inside me has swollen- and now- now that I know there will be no other time to say it... I decide that now is the only time.

"...Mom..." I swallow. I can't believe I'm going to say. "Mom... I... there's something I need to tell you... but... this is the only time... so..."

The crying begins to lessen, and I'm suddenly very aware that I'm finally going to tell them. The secret that I locked away as a child- swearing I would never hurt my Mothers with its reality. All my acting and lies until this point had hidden it away, so they'd never know. All the questions that burn inside me.

Why couldn't I have a father? Why didn't they let me meet him? Is he still alive, is he out there somewhere? Was it a donor- and if so can I ever meet him? Does he know I exist? Why hasn't he tried to meet me...?

...did they know that... I would one day... feel this hollow...?

It's on my tongue. Trembling- waiting to be said. The velvet tent is silent except for the muffled voices next to us. I swallow again, trying to find the words.

"I... I want..."

They're still crying. Oh god, please don't cry... Mom... Mom... I can't tell you when you look at me with those eyes... those pained eyes... the eyes I lied so hard to keep from seeing...

"I..."

Make it stop. Make them stop crying. I have to ask- I have to... I have to...

"...I want to..."

Slowly, I come to the miserable truth.

I can't ask. I can't bring myself to push that truth upon them. To ask for the one thing they could never give me. A father. I... I can't let them know that... not now... not when there's no time left...

"...I want to win..."

The words are stale in my mouth, and they don't make my mothers cease their tears- but it's enough. The box inside shudders and lies dormant again as I hug them closely to me; wishing that we didn't really have to part.

The peace keeper comes, and my mother has to hold back her partner from screaming desperate pleas at the guard. I reach forward- a childish gesture to bring them back- but in an instant they're gone.

-and I'm alone.

Sitting back down, I know that no one else will come. I have no siblings... no other family... but what pains me most is that I know... I know that there is no one else I want to visit me. I've just watched the most important women in my life disappear forever.

...

And I... I didn't tell them... my hand relaxes from the fist it had curled into as I remember the choice I had made. Right up until the end... I kept up the lie... I'd saved their happiness... what little was left of it...

I'll try to live... but... even if that fails... at least I did my best... as their son... their beautiful, lying son...

"...damn it..."

* * *

**As I always plea, review with thoughts/feelings or musings! :)**


	10. S5, Escaped Songbird

**A Vivid Note: **sorry for the update delay for this chapter. I had been updating nine days straight, and I finally cracked under all the exhaustion after spending a day with the boyfriend. Sorry again, but hopefully I can pick up where we left off and polish off the rest of these tribute introductions as quickly as possibile.

This chapter's tribute was created by _aidenelizabeth_, and she's definitely an interesting character! I enjoyed writing her up (_difficult as it was_), and I think it's safe to say you're going to be surprised by her.  
Ah- and should you wish to listen to what I believe the piano song being played is- go to my profile and click the link "[1]". It's a beautiful piano melody- (_if you can stand Japanese Pop music, which I do quite enjoy, do check out the actual version_) and I'm attributing it to this character.

Let's get this back on track!  
Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Ari Saint-Claire; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 5._

Songbirds live miserable lives. They sit all alone on a perch for all to see- with no way out of their prisons. An azure sky lies _just _out of reach at all times, just smiling beyond the bars...  
-But the songbird is forced to sit and to wait... dreaming about a world they will never be part of.

I promised myself that I wouldn't live this life of a songbird, and I promised _him _I wouldn't live a life of a songbird. No, Ari Saint-Claire is more than a silly nightingale. I know I am.

...but no one else does...

"-Ari? Is that what really what you want to wear...?"

I snap back to reality. My Father looks at me from across the breakfast table, and I suddenly become aware that I must have spaced out for a while. All the butter has soaked into my toast- making it cold and soggy.

"Uh... yes Dad, it is." I say quietly, putting the toast back on my plate. I briefly look down at the soft but simple blue cotton dress I have chosen to wear for today's reaping. "Why, is there a problem?"

"I'm just surprised, that's all," My Father shrugs. He shifts his glasses a little before returning to his breakfast. "Just a little plain... wasn't there anything else in your closet you liked?"

"I wanted to wear this one," I answer firmly. My voice is close to shaking, knowing the territory I'm about to tread into. "I wanted luck for today, so I thought I should wear Mom's dress."

I said it.

...Silence. I expected as much. Were this a phone conversation I'd be holding my breath to wait for his answer. But I've done it, and there's no going back now. All there is now is to wait and see how it develops.

My Father looks at me. I've never realised before how long this breakfast table is for a family of two. The tension comes to a breaking point- only for my Father to say, in the most benign of voices-

"You look nice."

...I failed.

Just once... just _once _I want to talk about Mom. It's been ten years since she passed, and I'm yet to hear him even acknowledge her after all this time. I thought for sure that the dress would succeed... nothing else has. I can't just come out and say 'I want to hear you talk about Mom'. I can't.

-Doesn't he feel that this could be our last day together? I mean, the odds of me being picked are almost laughable- but still. Isn't he... at all worried?

"-are you still set on the 'natural' image?" My father breaks my inner anguish. I stare at him blankly. "Sorca and I have been talking, and you might be able to appeal to more of your demographic were you to... liven up your style."

I hate Sorca. I never wanted an agent- but Dad thought it was important because of my rising celebrity status. I wanted to point out that it wouldn't be necessary, since I didn't even _want _to be a celebrity- but being who I am... I couldn't say it. So no one heard me.

"I like the way I look," I say, trying my best to remain gentle sounding. "-and I have an aversion to tattoos and things, you know that."

"Yes... I know," His voice is tired and a little strained. Perhaps toast wasn't the best idea. "Never mind Ari... you're fine the way you are..."

Of course you'd say that Dad. You still seem to think that I want to be some sort of singing sensation. But if you took more than one second to actually pay attention to me when I'm singing- you'd see how absolutely pained I look.

-But that's apparently the road I've been given, by fate as Mom used to say. She was a firm believer in destiny and fate. I never really knew what to believe, so it could be true or not be true for all I know.  
Mom was always more vocal about her opinions, much more than I was. Every day I wish I had that quality. I'd trade my voice for it.

"-there's still an hour until we have to leave," Dad speaks again and I look up at him. "Perhaps we can get some practice in before this afternoon?"

I want to be angry with him. How dare you ask me to sing instead of worrying about what might happen? I want to snarl that at him and watch as that always placid face finally shows some kind of emotion.  
...but I can't. I don't say anything of the sort. But I certainly don't feel like singing now.

"I... I'd like to spend some more time getting ready... if you don't mind," I push my chair back. "Sorry."

Around other people, I'm a lot more cheerful. But around my Father I'm this; always this daughter who never wants to go against him. I thought that if I was perfect then he would finally pay enough attention to me, realising how unhappy I am.

For the past ten years, it hasn't worked.

I don't get a proper reply, just a short nod that means I'm free to go. In all honesty I don't want to get ready any more than I already have- I think I look fine to stand in a crowd of people who already scrutinize me- but I don't want to sing right now. I really, _really _don't.

It's our main source of income, my singing career. Well, aside from Dad's office work, but that has becoming less and less frequent and we've subsequently lost a lot of that money. As a result I've been put into more shows, more openings more recordings. My voice was actually hoarse from all the singing, and I was put on medication to help the 'healing process'.

By the time I reach my room, I'm feeling even more melancholy than I was before. Judging from my reflection, Ari Saint-Claire looks like she's on the verge of tears. I wonder what my fans would think if they saw this on a poster instead of the usual modest yet upbeat song girl.  
My father's words from the breakfast table suddenly float back through my mind. My 'natural image' he called it... why did he sound so disheartened when I said I'd be sticking to this style?

No, I don't look like the other Capitol teenagers. My 'aversion' to tattoos and alterations stopped me from ever becoming that... _extreme _looking. Instead I've lived my whole life with the strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes, thinking I was fine the way I was.  
True, I had to carefully ignore all the suggestions for alterations from Sorca and Dad- the wings, the horns, the claws- and the oh-so many hints of getting endorsement tattoos.

I've probably really annoyed them over the course of this career. I haven't made things easy for them to keep it going- not that I go out of my way to make it difficult for them, since I couldn't really do that to Dad. I do love him, even if he is short sighted when it comes to my feelings.

I wonder. I look in the full length mirror and let my eyes trail down to my feet, clad in ankle high boots that no one else would wear with this dress. I wonder what my Father would think if he knew how close we came to my career ending. It seems like only yesterday that I was staring into those eyes and holding those hands- seriously considering running away from it all...

-Only for that daydream to be violently torn apart- and to be all alone once again.

Perhaps one day I'll tell Dad the truth... show him my one and only tattoo... but there's a strong feeling that whenever that day is... my career as the Capitol's songbird will end... and my Father may never forgive me.

I can hear the piano playing downstairs; the light but strong fluttering strokes of keys send a chill through the air and up my back. Dad's playing without me, maybe even knowing how this song always makes me feel guilty.  
It's the first song I ever learned to sing. The song Mom taught me and the same melody that my parents learned of my 'gift'...

I want to hate this song, but I can't. Not when it means so much to me- so much more than I will ever be able to tell my Father. He just thinks it's a favourite of mine... completely unaware of the implications... too ignorant to ask...

Its words are so accurate to what I want to say. I want him to recognise me, as the girl that I am, not the girl I appear to be. But... it also confesses... so gently... everything about that secret relationship I can never tell my father... almost in a taunting way...

It is almost like a trance it sends me into. The words find their way from my lips:

_Basking in your sunset light,  
my ideals and dreams can only blossom  
notice me, please..._

...I'll go down and sing in a minute... or maybe two minutes...

I'll sing one more time with the piano... just as soon as Ari Saint-Claire stops crying.

**

* * *

**

"Dad, you don't have to stand right by me..."

"Just to be safe, I know this is a public event- but you never know what might happen..."

This is embarrassing, as _well _as agonising. It was already bad enough that I'm here at the Capitol reaping, knowing that someone from my home town is going to be taken away and killed on television- but what makes it worse is that I know that Dad is more worried about me getting jumped by a fan than me getting reaped myself.

At least he's not making me hold his hand over the rope. I'm surrounded by the other sixteen year old girls, since we've all been separated into our age groups and then into separate gender areas. I'm pretty sure than in the Districts they keep the boys and girls together- but there are a lot more kids here in the Capitol.

Though that's probably because we aren't killed half as much as the District kids are.

I didn't change anything about my outfit. I've kept the shoes and Mom's old dress, and I even left my hair in its wavy cascade- rather than allowing Dad to pressure me into styling it up. From the way I look, there's no way to tell that I'm considered a celebrity in this region. If anything I look a little more mousy than usual.

-That's not stopping me from catching the odd glance and whisper in my direction however. Mousy or not, there's no way to avoid the attention that comes with being me.  
I bear with it. I grit my teeth and smile every now and again, but as time drags on I'm starting to cast frequent glances towards my father.

He doesn't look worried in the slightest. Not like all the other parents around him. Perhaps he feels that because of his status and my role- I'm exempt from this all somehow.  
...this almost makes me angry, but my nerves are starting to build. There's this awkward feeling in my throat that if I open my mouth a frog might leap out.

...either that or vomit.

I've never felt this way about the games before, but I guess that's because it was never _me _up for the reaping before. Usually I was happy, if not eager to watch how each year would unfold- with the new cast of tributes and the whole ambiance of the games.  
Part of me wonders what it'd be like to be a winner of the games. Whenever the winner sits before the highlight reel they usually just seem to be in awe.

I guess I'd be in awe too, if I survived all the things that killed off twenty-three other kids; either that or in a state of utter disbelief.

It's funny I only think of this sort of thing now. I remember talking to him as he tried to teach me how to throw darts- asking him what it'd be like to be a tribute in a Hunger Game, to be on the screens and know that everyone is watching you.  
...that was probably the first time I saw his eyes go hollow. I'll never forget the whisper that followed-

_It'd be like screaming your lungs out in a crowded room... with no one to hear you._

The mayor, a thin guy with an even thinner moustache takes hold of the microphone and announces that he is forgoing the treaty of treason and giving the microphone straight to our escort 'George'.  
I can't help but feel a little surprised when I learn that 'George' is in fact a rather busty woman, who announces with a smooth velvet voice that she wishes us luck- and that she will be drawing the boys first.

...boys first?

I thought it was traditionally girls first...?

There's little time to be confused by her decision, as George is already dipping her hand into the male reaping ball. I inhale a breath, unsure why it is I'm worried- there are no boys in my 'Sector' that I am worried about- and all too quickly she announces-

"Laco Sykora!"

There are no sounds of protest. I had thought that, since this was the Capitol- and judging on how much of a fuss has been kicked up over the last few days- the crowd would be even more vocal during the reaping. However the crowded street is dead silent as a tall boy, a year older than me most likely- walks up the wooden stairs and stares rather solemnly out across the sea of people.

He looks like an odd example of a Capitol tribute. Zebra stripes coat his skin, complementing his jet black hair that falls into his unnatural speckled eyes. The alterations don't look hideous on the guy- but they're plainly there.  
I wonder what the Districts think of him, as he stands there with the cameras buzzing about him like flies. Perhaps they've likened him to a zebra carcass already after only ten seconds.

"Congratulations Laco Sykora," George sounds rather unenthusiastic for an escort. She gives her vibrant red head of hair a shake before stepping towards the female reaping ball. "-and now to draw our- ah-!"

Glass shatters across the stage. A gasp escapes the crowd almost as one entity as Sector 5 watches as the female reaping ball falls from the table and hits the ground- shattering into millions of tiny shards and a blizzard of paper slips.

"No one move!" George shouts, crouching down beside the debris of glass and paper. "The female tribute is-"

Wait, what? She's just going to pick from the slips that are still within reach? What about all the thousands and thousands of slips that are blowing about the crowd's feet? As I look around I can see people in the crowd crushing them under their feet- intending to pick them up as soon as they are allowed to move again.  
There are no rogue paper slips near my feet to scavenge. In the split second remaining I bitterly wish that mine have escaped into the crowd as well when-

"Ari Saint-Claire!"

...Ari... Saint-Claire...?

I can't breathe. All the oxygen has been sucked out of my lungs and now all I can think of is how to breathe again. My heart thuds against my ribcage as the zebra carcass finds me from the stage and stares at me blankly.

"-Ari Saint-Claire, up here if you please!"

Stiffly, my legs make the steps. As I pass him, I manage to catch a glimpse of my father, but my eyes don't even meet with his. He stares at his hands, which are clasped tightly at his sides. Without even meaning to I stop dead in my tracks.

...Dad you've never paid attention to me ever... but can't you at least do it now...?

Anger. I know deep down that it's only because I'm in a state of shock- but it's the only feeling I can currently grasp onto. As the crowd begins to buzz and George calls again- I find the words finally spitting out.

"-You- damn you- _look at me_!"

And he does. His eyes are like a hunted animal's as his eyes and mine meet for what feels like the first time. I don't know what spurns me on, to do this in front of everyone who knows me- but I don't hold it back.

"-the least you can do is _look at me_," I say furiously, my eyes burning with tears. "Ten years, ten _whole _years and you're not even going to watch me go. What a great father you are."

"...A...Ari..." Finally I see emotion. For the first time since my Mother's death, my father shows something other than the blank slate. Fear. "...you're... you're going to be killed..."

I can't believe this. I'm almost inclined to slap him with the sudden rush of ten years of pent up fury- but I've taken too long. The Peace Keepers are steadily making their way through the crowd to pull Dad away- so before they reach me I break into a quick sprint before slowing down to ascend the staircase.

"-any volunteers?" George asks, surprisingly calmly. "Going once-?"

The crowd is in shock. I can feel my body shaking, and judging from the look that Laco Sykora is giving me- my expression is probably less than obliging. I want to scream, but I can see my reflection in the lenses of the cameras turning to focus on me. Ari Saint-Claire stares back at me, looking more ferocious than I've ever remembered her being.

"Final call for volunteers-!"

This is it, isn't it? Screaming with no one to hear you; is this what he meant? The whole of my home town stares up at the girl they had known and revered as their 'perfect' idol- and here I stand, abusing my father and staring out at them with eyes filled with resentment.

...for the first time... they're seeing the real me. The real Ari, not the downtrodden songbird. The Ari who learnt how to throw a dart, a knife... the Ari who wanted to live a normal life like any other girl... the Ari who fell in love with a boy who stole her heart and a spot on her ankle... the Ari who was left, alone...

"Congratulations Ari Saint-Claire, our Sector 5 female tribute!"

The applause is like a drizzle of rain, with people still surprised by my outburst. George looks at Laco and me shaking hands with an almost patronizing smile before calling out for one final round of applause for Sector 5's _marvellous _tributes.

I don't know about Laco, but for the first time in my life... I do feel marvellous. This is my chance... my final and only chance to make them see me for who I am.

I am not a songbird. I am Ari Saint-Claire.

The girl who will win the Capitol's first Hunger Game.

**

* * *

**

I'm surprised by the sheer volume of visitors I receive, even though I really shouldn't be. Old school friends cry over my apparently imminent death. A boy or two come in to confess feelings they had hidden, and 'wish me luck' on returning home. The peace keeper actually has to start asking me who is the more important to come see me- as I apparently have a line of visitors and only one more slot left.

"Is there anyone you would like to see?" the Peace keeper asks me, a little more sheepishly than I would expect from a man in his position.

"Uh..." I feign consideration. I know in my gut that there's only one more person I have to say goodbye to. I've been thinking about what to say to him since I stepped up those stairs. "My father, please..."

My voice continues to trail off, but it's still stronger than I ever remember it being. The Peace Keeper leaves me alone in the odd silence here in the velvet tent. I can only guess that Laco's visitors have already come and gone by this point.

...I almost feel bad for the boy with striped skin. That and jealous that he hasn't had to put up with my hollow stream of visitors who don't actually know me.

I wish it was two years ago. Then at least I'd have someone I really cared about to say goodbye to... somehow my strong ideal that I still cared for my father evaporated once my name had been called.

Sure enough, my father is the next one to walk into the tent. I feel a short lived rush of pity and guilt as I see the downcast look upon his face that I was so used to seeing express nothing at all-

...until I see her.

"...you brought... Sorca...?"

My voice goes high with disbelief. Is this really happening? My father looks at me sheepishly as my agent, the agent who cared _nothing _about my own individuality- stares blankly at me from across the tent.

"Ari, I can't express how sorry I am that you were chosen," Sorca says, her face much too stiff for me to believe this. "I'm sure the emotions are running high and-"

I'm not even listening. I don't give a damn about what Sorca is trying to say about my 'unfortunate turn of events' and how she feels. I never cared about how she felt- just as she never cared about how I felt. Instead I just stare at Dad, unable to express the insult I'm feeling.

"This is supposed to be our goodbye," I say. I can't even hide the desperation. "...and you brought her...?"

He doesn't say anything. My pathetic excuse of a father just stares at me with that shamed look on his face, as if I've done something unspeakable.

"I'm sorry Ari... but this will be the last time we ever see each other..." He looks like he's on the verge of tears, but I'm sure he won't cry. I know he won't. "Sorca wanted to say goodbye..."

I can't stand anymore of this. Dad continues to talk but I don't hear any of his words. Sorca starts up again- but it's all static. My breathing intensifies and the words crackle and burn in my ears.  
-And in the back of it all, I can hear the melody, and my voice so pained trying to break the words out as no one bothered to listen...

"Get out."

Sorca freezes. My father looks at me in surprise as I stand up from my seat and point a shaking finger towards the doorway.

"Get out," I repeat shakily; my heart pounding harder and Sorca doubles back as my voice escalates into a shriek. "Get out, get out- GET OUT!"

"Ari-!" Dad begins frantically, but I turn to him too.

"You too!" I scream. I push him with both hands, sending him backwards into Sorca. "All my life you've never believed in me- and now you're happy to have our last goodbye with _her_-?"

"Ari I don't-"

"No! Get out of here!" I clench my eyes tight as the tears start to flow. "I hate you! I'll prove to you that I'm more than just your stupid songbird! I'm more than Ari Saint-Claire!"

"Ari-!"

"NOW!"

Sorca's in tears. She leaves the tent weeping as the Peace Keeper- more than alerted to the disturbance- opens the tent for my father to leave. I don't even look at him; I just keep my eyes clenched tight and finger still pointing to the door- willing myself not to cry any more.

"...you can't... you can't win..."

-And with that, my father's footsteps die away- and I ball my hands into fists over my eyes, swallowing all the built up emotion inside. Rocking ever so slightly, I can hear my melody- desperate to drown out all the disbelief piled against me.

...I can... I can win... I don't need my father to win... I never needed my father...

-But... as the tears overwhelm me and I let that tiny sob break my will... I know that I don't want to do this alone... but the one person who would help me is long gone... and no one else can possibly understand me at this point...

"...I think you can win."

My eyes fly open. To my surprise, the wall of my velvet cage has been breached- and staring back at me with bright blue eyes is the last person I'd expect to be cheering me on at a time like this.

"I'll be your ally," the zebra striped Laco Sykora says firmly. "We can't beat these games alone, but we can together."

I don't know what to say. All too quickly he holds out a hand for me to take hold of.

"We'll show them the real you."

I don't know why he's so quick to befriend me, or his motives behind it... the cynical, rational part of me is positive this is a trap... but in this moment, with those bright blue eyes gleaming in the dim light of the tent... I make a choice.

I'm going to fight for my life. I'm going to prove everyone wrong. They can't confine me to this cage they've built around me. I'm more than a songbird.

...so I take his hand.

* * *

**Review if you have the time/keyboard. :DD**


	11. S5, Silent Guardian

**A Vivid Note: **thank you all for not dismembering me for updating late. I have to say, you truly are my favourite audience to write for, you're kind and very responsive- but you're also quite honest when I need you to be, which I cannot ever fully express my gratitude for. Are you all looking forward to Mockingjay? I hope that they release it in Australia soon after they release it in America.

This chapter's tribute belongs to _beach_babe_, and he's an odd looking Capitol kid- that's for sure! His 'zebra' appearance is right up there with Liotta (_Rapunzel hair/winged girl_) and Vinel (_purple skinned/green Mohawk boy_).  
Don't judge him on his appearance though. I was given a lot of leeway with this character (_very simple description_) so I made him a bit wiser than most. Sort of an exposition fairy.

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Laco Sykora; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 5._

How could anyone enjoy the Hunger Games? The name itself implies that its participants will be 'hungering', which can't mean anything pleasant in any sense. Of course- it's all very subjective since they don't even specify what the contestants are 'hungering' _for_.

Some of the guys in my class would argue that it's blood. The girls would suddenly become shy and not want to answer the question. Adults would evade the question entirely by saying it's an allusion to the 'dark days'- though never really explaining how.

...I'm not stupid. I know what the 'Hunger Games' means, and it has nothing to do with the contestants hungering for anything, that's certain.

-Because it's us. _We_, the Capitol- hunger for _their _blood. It's our Hunger Games.

That's why, when I watched the reading of the card... I didn't know whether to laugh or not; about the ridiculous irony of it all. The Capitol has become so enslaved to its hunger that even its own citizens aren't safe anymore.

This is probably the only time I'm truly glad that I am an only child. Today I don't have to worry about having a sibling taken away from me- or even a close friend to lose. I've been too introverted these past few years to make one. I suppose that's for the best, if only for today of all days.

I never enjoy reaping days; having to watch as those emaciated District kids are called to their grave, one by one. The only thing I enjoy is actually getting to see them for what they really are- rather than the lies the rest of the Capitol makes them out to be.  
How many of them are, in actuality- just like me? They have hopes and dreams for the future, and day to day struggles that are far greater than mine...

-in the Capitol, we're expected to believe that they're comfortable living out there- practically side by side with the wilderness. However I know better than that. There's no way that they're happy- starving away to nothing as the Capitol lives happily in their hard earned excess.  
-Why else would there be the Hunger Games, if not to keep them subdued? Well... aside from the Capitol's own thirst for that thick, clotting District blood...

"Lacey darling, are you almost ready-?"

Ah my dear optimistic Mother. Of course she's not worried at all by these games or this reaping. Then again, I've led her to believe that neither am I- even though it does gnaw away at me slightly.  
The way she openly said- so crassly- how she dislikes being in the Sector opposite District 5 was almost repulsive, and had she not been my Mother I'd have called her out on it.

"Almost!" I shout back. It's a lie, but she won't bother opening the door to find out. "I'll be out in ten minutes!"

Mother's footsteps disappear down the short hallway, and I can hear her chirping merrily with Father as he prepares lunch. Perhaps if I was a merry person myself, I'd find comfort that my home is filled with this sort of platonic love.  
-However depression tends to put a damper on that sort of thing. I'm thankful that my home life isn't worse, but it can't cancel out the moral injustice that plagues me wherever I go.

I wonder if anyone has even noticed that Laco Sykora is suicidal.

My bedroom mirror can't show that side of me, no matter how hard anyone might look into it. Who would suspect a 'regular looking' Capitol teenage male? I almost want to scoff at the word 'regular', since I think that can only ever apply to unaltered people.  
The zebra stripes that coat my body are anything but ordinary- and the silver flecks of color that fill my irises aren't standard either.

My reflection shows what appears to be a very 'irregular', thereby normal, Capitol teenage male.

I wish it didn't.

-One day I won't have to feel this guilt that comes with being a Capitol teenager. Knowing that _my _predecessors are the reason twenty-four kids are forced to abandon their lives for the sake of bloodshed.  
I wish there was something I could do to show that I'm above all that. I'm more than a piece in this totalitarian society.

I don't take too long getting ready. There's not really much point dressing up for something so stupid. I pull on the nearest shirt and trousers I can reach- and then finally retire to the breakfast table.  
I'm met by a rather confused look from my mother. She reaches across the table to tug at the black shirt I've adorned.

"...you're not... dressing up?" She looks disappointed. "I could help you if you like darling-"

"I'm more comfortable in stuff like this," I say offhandedly. "Besides, I'm not in a... _dressy _sort of mood."

"Alright..." My mother sinks back into her seat. From this angle she looks like a scorned child, the way she swings her legs like that. "...excited...?"

I can't bring myself to reprimand her. She doesn't know that she's been brought up to revere a game that defiles human morality. My Mother is so peppy and vibrant- you wouldn't mistake her as the sort of person who'd ever dabble in that sort of thing.  
But she does, by sponsoring a chosen child every year and moping when they don't win. Dad's doesn't bother to try and save the money anymore, since she fights hard. So far, over the course of her forty six years as a sponsor- she's sponsored three winners.

_Three_. I started to think she was a bit of a jinx.

She's a terrible judge of character. My Father is a peace keeper, and he says it runs in the family. I don't bother arguing otherwise- but I'm secretly terrified that I might be as well, without my knowing.

"Are you going to sponsor someone this year Mom?" I ask, sounding almost bored- without any intention.

"Yes, of course!" Mom gives me a playful wink. "I'm going to sponsor whoever is taken from this Sector, just to partake in the whole neighbourhood spirit of these games."

Oh god. Mom... my poor delusional Mother... neighbourhood spirit? Really? You can't _really _think that... can you?

"Do you know anyone who's going to volunteer?" Dad asks as he sits down with a mug of chocolate coffee. "I heard from someone at work that there's a boy a few districts over considering..."

At least Dad sounds reasonably depressed by all this. I shake my head, as I genuinely don't know of _anyone _actually willing to join this Quell- and get up to fix myself something to drink.

"Laco...?"

"Mm?" I murmur, looking up from the refrigerator. "What Mom?"

My Mother and Father stare at me in the rare silence. Dad drops his gaze to his coffee as my Mother shows me an odd but rueful smile.

"...nothing." She shakes her head. "We love you Lacey."

For the first time today, I feel a twinge in my chest. Then I smile back.

"Love you too guys."

**

* * *

**

Dad leaves before Mom and I do. Being a Peacekeeper requires him to help set up the reaping 'equipment', as tedious as that sounds. Not long afterwards my dear but flippant Mother came into my room and told me we too had to get going.

The walk there was almost silent. I say almost because my Mother is never truly silent at any time. She hums tunes, cracks her knuckles, coughs frequently... it's impossible to forget she's around. I'm surprised we're even related, what with my incessant need to be quiet.

"Are you worried?" She asks as we draw closer to the street, already full to bursting with our 'Sectors'' population. "About... about getting chosen?"

I shrug. My Mother can't have been expecting much more out of me- since my usual response to everything is little more than a jerk of my shoulders. However there's an expression of disdain on her face that suggests that perhaps she was.

As we draw closer to the delegated street, I'm silently overwhelmed by the sheer number of people gathered here. I knew that everyone in the 'Sector' had to be here to be counted, but I had no idea that everyone took up this much space.  
What a pity the only thing that can bring us all together is something so degrading. If I had to liken this to anything, I'd say we all look like cattle being lined up for the slaughter.

-Although I look more like a zebra than a cow.

"I'll be over there, alright?" Mom points towards the left side of the crowd. "You... come find me after all this, okay?"

"Okay," I nod. Not wanting to leave her with just that, I reach for the poor woman and give her a soft squeeze. "Love you Mom."

For the first time in my memory, my Mother is silent. Her bottom lip trembling, she hurries away into the outside crowd before I can feel any worse than I already do. Knowing that there is absolute nothing more I can do in this moment- I proceed with having my name marked off the roster of names before I hide away in the crowd of seventeen year olds.

Though I can see several of my friends nearby I make no effort to try and contact them. They're all panicking amongst themselves- and I would really rather come to terms with my own fears than have to deal with everyone else's.  
I'm not panicking so much for me. If I'm chosen that's just bad luck, but I don't know if I could bear to watch someone young and full of so much potential life be called to the plate. That's what I'm panicking about.

-perhaps if I cared more about myself, I'd be worried about how my being chosen would affect my peppy, vibrant coloured parents... but I just can't for some reason.  
They'd deal with it, in time. At least they could know I lived for a decent amount of time.

Okay- now I _know _I'm deluding myself, and I know it- but what else am I supposed to think? I'm not stupid but I'm no optimist...

The joke of a mayor steps up and takes a firm hold of the microphone. An almost instantaneous wave of silence takes hold of the crowd as we prepare ourselves for the un-preparable.

"Citizens of, erm, newly elected Sector Five-!" At first I think his poor paraphrasing is just because he's speaking without a guide- but then I notice the cards in his hand. Oh _god_. "As it holds no relevance to us, we will be forgoing the Treaty of Treason. I now hand over the microphone to our Sector's escort- George."

George is a woman. I hide the smirk that thought brings to my face as the buxom woman steps up to the microphone- and, in a very un-escort like voice- calls out that she will be starting with the boy tribute.

Hmm. Irregular, but not too drastic I suppose. I can't help but wonder why though, since it's traditionally custom to say- in a very chipper manner 'ladies first!', but maybe there's a reason behind that...

She reaches into the glass reaping ball. I don't know what to do in the almost poisonous silence that follows- so continue to stare blankly at her. A family's life is about to be ruined because of the slip her nails grasp upon...

"Laco Sykora!"

...

...of course. Of course it'd be my family.

Well... I had said I lived for a decent amount of time.

-And at least this means there's only so many more children I have to watch die.

I lock eyes with the boy beside me, who gives me a reactive look- a mixture of guilt and pity. I turn about and quickly start working my legs back into functioning- focusing hard on not miss stepping and throwing away what's going to be left of my dignity after the games.  
When I take my place on stage, George is already calling for volunteers- but I'm not naive. No one wants to be Laco Sykora right now. Let the boy in striped skin die instead.

If I listen very closely... I can hear my mother crying.

So I don't.

"Congratulations Laco Sykora," Yes. Congratulations of reaching the point every suicidal teen dreams of reaching. Being _helped _to the grave. "-and now to draw our- ah-!"

My head turns just in time to see the ball shatter. I don't often feel surprised, but this is the first time in years I've had my throat close up from alarm. The storm of the girls' names hurls itself through all corners of the crowd- and as the crowd is distracted by the shock- I see it.

The escort's hand.

Dipping inside her pocket.

_No way_.

"No one move!" I can't believe what I'm seeing. Hasn't anyone else noticed? "The female tribute is-!"

George pretends to look about for a random slip, but my eyes are fixated in shock on the already chosen piece clutched deep within her fist. Part of me, the more courageous part, urges me to shout that she's going against the reaping- but I don't. My voice is stuck in my throat, as it always has been.

Why is the escort sabotaging the female reaping? What purpose will it serve- and who on earth is the unlucky girl to have her name on that fated slip-?

"Ari Saint-Claire!"

No. My eyes flick immediately to the age sixteen section for the girls- and right on the outskirts I find her. This is impossible. Why her? Of all people- why her? Her eyes fly up to mine and she just stares in shock as George calls out for her again.

"-up here if you please!"

Ari Saint-Claire, the teenage singer. To say that I knew her was understatement, because everyone knows her. She was forced upon us as a role model- obviously against her will. I might have even gone so far as to have said I liked her songs- if someone asked me my opinion on her before all this.

Why? Why her? To completely go against the entire reaping just to call her name... what possible kind of agenda is in place here?

Saint-Claire takes a while getting up to the stage, having difficulty with her father along the way. I watch in surprise and curiosity as her small body- shaking with anger- makes its stiff way up the steps and beside mine. She looks at me, and I can do nothing but stare back at her in wonder- even though all I see is desperate anger in her eyes.

Does she know that she's been set up? That nothing was in her favour this morning? As George makes the two of us shake hands, I can feel my heart begin to beat faster as the blades of my fingers graze her wrist.

She's warm. The buzz of the crowd dies away in my ears as I retract my hand, still unable to take my eyes off the so softly dazzling girl that I and the rest of the district had considered beautiful. One of the few beautiful things to ever grace the Capitol.

...and it's being taken away.

The crowd cheers and I can feel all my self-hatred begin to die away in the static of their voices and cries as a new and more important life choice becomes abundantly clear.  
I'm not going to die in these games for no reason. The fact that I saw the slip pulled out of George's pocket confirms that I have a great reason than that.

I have been given a purpose.

**

* * *

**

Mom won't let go of me in the velvet tent constructed for the tributes' final goodbyes. Dad just stands there in his peace keeper uniform- clearly unable to fully comprehend that his only son is marching off for a completely irrelevant war.

"I'm s-s-so sorry!" My Mother chokes out repeatedly, though I can't see why. It's not her fault I was chosen. "I love y-you-!"

"Don't be sorry..." I murmur gently, stroking her head softly as she clings my shoulders. "You'll be okay..."

"W-What about you-?"

"I'll be okay too..." I smile. I'm surprised by how natural my calmness is. "You'll see... its okay..."

My eye draws to my father, who is fiddling desperately for something in his pocket- perhaps trying to distract himself from crying like my Mother so freely is. However I'm surprised when he brings out a handkerchief and holds it out for me to take.

"It was your grandfather's," he says bluntly, and perhaps a little gruffer than he intended to sound. "I... you can take it for your token if you haven't got anything else..."

Ah Father. We've never had many father son moments in our duration of life together, but I'll accept this as your apology. I take the soft piece of cloth in my hands and examine the initials 'A.S'.  
Perhaps if I was more of a clown, and this wasn't such an awful situation- I'd have made a joke. Instead I use it to wipe my Mother's face of her tears before the Peace Keeper comes along to take the two of them away.

"...good luck son." Dad manages to croak.

"...I love you..." Mom whispers, clutching his arm tightly. "I love you Laco..."

"I love you too." I smile and close my eyes. "Don't worry, you'll see me again."

Just not in person. Unless you count corpses, which I don't.

Alone, I sit in the quiet darkness of the velvet tent- knowing full well that I will have no more visitors today. I had no close friends, or relatives... or siblings. Just my parents and I don't even have them anymore. Just a tear stained tissue with the initials A.S...

I don't even know what my grandfather's name was. I guess I never will now.

Ari seems to have a stream of visitors still. I can hear all the voices- from girls who seem to be her friends to boys who just seem to be fans. I can't hear her speak, but I can hear the rest of them clear as day- which seem to hint that she doesn't feel anything for this crowd she attracts.

I can't blame her. The Capitol has a lot of people, but not all of them are that easy to sympathise with. How could they be when the majority of them love living in excess without even thinking of those who suffer for that lifestyle?

...A.S... Ari Saint-Claire... or would her initials be A.S.C...? I fiddle with the handkerchief as I listen quietly to the happenings inside her tent.

My purpose still feels strong in my heart. For whatever reason the Capitol is trying to kill this girl, I will do my utmost to prevent it. She must be more than just a songbird to mean this much. Personally I... I don't see what, but it must be something...

...or it must mean something... for the Capitol to want her dead, on live television.

She asks the Peace Keeper for her father. I stand up beside the thin fabric walls that separate us and listen as the events unfurl. At first it's just a woman's voice... and then Ari whispers something... and then there's pleading...

"-_Get out, get out, GET OUT-_!"

Something flickers in my head. A realization.

Her father. He works for the government doesn't he? As his voice trembles as he tries to reason with his frantic daughter- my breathing becomes heavier as I begin to piece together my reasoning.

-it's his fault. His daughter has been chosen for something he's done.

I can't fight the urge any longer. Taking a risk, I pull the curtains to the side so I can see, and I just manage to catch a glimpse of her father's back- while Ari points to the door with her eyes clenched tightly shut.

"...you can't win... you can't win..."

Silence. I let the curtain fall back as my own stunned horror wells up from inside at those words. What kind of father would say that to his child? To the child that has spent her entire life supporting him with her voice?  
...how can he do anything besides love her for what she's done for him...?

That settles it. He has to be the reason why her name was called. That's why he's so adamant that she'll lose, isn't it? The man doesn't realise that she's not doing this alone... anymore.

Ari Saint-Claire doesn't know me, just as I don't really know her. But if there's a chance that I can help her live out there, I'm going to take it. And I have to make that clear now.

Quietly, I push my way into her side of the tent. The velvet gently moves aside and I can see her, her hands pushed against her eyes to stem the crying. A small beat of pity runs through me as I rediscover my voice-

"...I think you can win."

Her eyes snap upwards, and I fight back the smile they seem to endow me with. It's hard to believe that this is the girl who is played up to be the perfect chipper song girl of the Capitol. Here she is, startled and crying- forced up against death itself.

"I'll be your ally," I say as seriously as possible. "We can't beat these games alone, but we can together."

She doesn't know that by 'we' I mean her. I have no desire to win these games. All I want is for what little beauty there is in the Capitol to remain- and if I can help that by keeping her alive, then I'll die a martyr.  
...and Ari Saint-Claire won't have to hide behind her father's charade anymore. It'll be a new beauty. True beauty.

"We'll show them the real you."

I hold out my hand. It's just a symbol, because I know in my heart that even if she rejects it I'll still fight to keep her alive. But it'd be so much easier if I can do this with her cooperation.

-But something is working behind those eyes. Those eyes so used to hiding away the pain. I finally allow myself to smile as her hand twitches and reaches for mine.

I'll make sure you live.

Ari Saint-Claire.

* * *

**If you are so kind, please review. xx**


	12. S6, Intelligent Reader

**A Vivid Note: **we're steadily getting there, bit by bit. I'm sorry that the reapings are taking so long- but I did promise myself (_and you all too_) that I wasn't going to do this unless I did it right.  
Well- I'm doing it as right as I can manage and so far I'm proud of what we've accomplished together.

This tribute was created by _Firebrush_, and I would like to wish her an, albeit _late_, happy birthday! I wish you many, _many_ good wishes to you from Vivid in Australia!  
-I would like to thank my boyfriend, who _insisted _a credit in helping with this chapter. He helped me characterise this girl when I had given up hope in writing.

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Faye-Anna Cholores; 14 years; the Capitol Sector 6._

Wearing this dress feels wrong. It hangs awkwardly from my bony shoulders, accentuates my lack of 'womanly curves', and falls so far that I look far shorter than I really am. Along with the fact that my hair has been pulled up into a taut but frizzy bun- flaring the red, purple and blue strands out in a spiral, which does nothing to help.

All of this achieves nothing, aside from successfully making me look like the poster girl for an anorexia advertisement.

"I don't understand why your hair is so brittle..." I hear my sister fret, pressing the comb to her lips. "Have you been using the shampoo I recommended?"

"Yes," I mutter. All I want to do in this moment is pull on a pair of jeans and a thick jumper to cover up my stick-like body. "It just... doesn't work, I guess..."

As she tuts to herself, I watch as my elder sister glides from my room- obviously annoyed. I can't help but expel a sigh now that I am finally free of my sister's fiddling fingertips. I am very much regretting the decision to allow my sister to oversee my reaping preparations.

Of course, there's not much I can do about it now. The reaping for District- I mean, Sector 6 is drawing closer by the minute- and there's no time for me to redo my sister's handiwork. Not that I can really do much better, since this is the only dress in our house that even remotely fits me without coming off as a total circus tent on my skeletal frame.

Oh well. I... _we _tried I guess. At least if I get back home after the reaping I can quickly get changed into something a bit more comfortable, like a giant burlap sack to hide in for the rest of time until my body goes back to normal.

-wait, wait I didn't mean '_if_' I get back home, I meant 'when', not 'if'... '_when_'...

"Oh god..."

Right on cue, my paranoia is setting in. The moment I'm free from one mental dilemma- I thrust myself into another one by thinking the worst. Then again, when someone is staring at their emaciated reflection in a mirror, all dolled up to stand in a crowd for a game they could never watch without covering their eyes- it's hard to think on the bright side.

The Hunger Games. For me they've always been somewhat as a background noise, occasionally arising to make me feel curious about the lives of the District people- but other than that, barely watchable. I never watch any further than the opening ceremonies, because I'd get too depressed and probably make my sister and my brother worried.

Probably no escaping that this year, since I myself am being subjected to the games. True, so is everyone else in the Capitol- but I just have this really bad feeling it's going to be me. One of those terrible gut feelings a person can't shake, that makes you feel like throwing up or lying down.  
-my sister told me not to panic, since it's true I get these worries a lot about lots of things- and I told her I wouldn't, but it was a lie. I can't stop myself from worrying.

It's not like I don't have any basis for my worrying tendencies. Most girls my age who live in the Capitol can say quite confidently that nothing terrible has happened in their life so far, except for maybe a painful or regrettable alteration. Now I haven't suffered from any alterations other than my dyed hair- but I think my trauma is worse than theirs.

I was born out of an affair, which caused my parents to divorce. Not long after that my Mom began to sink into a state of... mental instability... and it's only gotten worse from there. If this wasn't bad enough, when I was finally allowed to regularly meet with my father- which was only five years ago- he himself had fallen into a serious morphine addiction.  
To top all that off, just recently my brother and sister, who they themselves had been born out of separate marriages of my mother's- somehow decided that they were '_madly_' in love and were going to get married later this year.

It sounds like a Greek tragedy rather than a family portrait, doesn't it?

So now, at age fourteen- I effectively have _no _stable parental figures, a home situation that makes even the most liberal of parties cringe, and that's not even mentioning my own crippling problems that don't include my underlying paranoia, pessimism and harsh critical nature of life.

"Faye-!" Just as I allow myself to relax on the soft pillows of my bed, my sister cries down the hallway. "We're going out to get us all some lunch before we go- okay?"

"Okay!" I call back, not bothering to sit up from my brief comfort. "Love you!"

"Love you too Faye!"

A brief jingling of the house keys and the front door closes- signalling that my soon to be wed siblings have left. I have no desire to get up off of the plush white covers of my double bed, so I don't. Instead I reach over to the bedside table and, without really looking, grab the first book that enters the range of my fingertips.  
I snare the spine of a book and pull it within eye range, grimacing at the vaguely familiar foreign cover staring back at me.

_Audition_. I groan and toss the book away without even bothering to open it.

Yeah, right. If I don't want to think about the utter depravity of my family and the immoral attitude of the games- I certainly don't feel like reading about a psychotic _ballerina_ cutting off a guy's legs with a wire saw.

So I fish for another book, again without looking. This time the spine that meets my fingers feels rough, so I know I've read it a few times. But when I pull my battered copy of _the Brothers Grimm _onto the bed with me, I don't feel like reading it anymore than I did the first book.

I've read these books before, possibly ten times each. I started reading them when I found them in Mom's old book collection after I'd become sick of the books being printed lately. There were at least a hundred books in there, and all of them were well over three hundred years old.  
But what _really _sold them to me was how they weren't 'Capitol Regulated', like the usual 'classics' I've read. The books I found were in their full entirety, uncensored by our government.

-That fact alone made reading _1984 _all the more sweeter... until I got to the end and suddenly felt achingly depressed again.

In the Capitol, we're given the idea that we have the control over everything- but in all honesty we don't. Sure, we can give ourselves horns, wings and paint ourselves blue all we like- but that freedom is just to cover up the things we can't do.  
-We can't visit the Districts, not unless we're Peace Keepers or District escorts. I've also learned, the hard way, that trying to study the reality of the Districts amounts to nothing.

We're supposed to believe that they're happy where they are; farming cattle, picking berries, chopping lumber or shovelling coal... for _us_. This may be my critical persona talking but I can't imagine that sort of life being at all enjoyable!  
I've seen the tributes each year that come from the Districts, and hardly any of them look like they're happy. Sometimes they do, usually the ones from District 1 and 2, but whenever I see the kids from the other Districts... they look thinner than I am.

-and I'm willing to bet that they don't have bulimia.

This year, I can only guess that those kids are relieved. They don't have to be taken away into the arena this year. Perhaps they're even celebrating. I wonder if any of them will cheer when us Capitol kids get killed...

No. Oh no stop thinking like that Faye. It won't be you. It can't be. Well, it _can _but it won't... will it? Oh no, no...

Times like this I wish I had a stable parent to depend on, to tell me it'll be alright. That there's no way I'll be chosen for the games. That I should stop worrying about being reaped and just focus on surviving this Quell in the safety of my own home...

...

...but I don't have a stable parent to depend on...

-And I can't shake this terrible feeling that I'll have to focus on surviving this Quell within the danger of the arena itself.

"...I need something to eat..."

**

* * *

**

I feel quite ill when we arrive in the wide street where the reapings are being held. As hard as I had tried to make it stay put, I hadn't been able to keep my hastily eaten lunch down. Now my siblings are worried about my health. I walk between my brother and sister, their hands protectively holding mine.

"If you still feel shaky, just remember that we're in the crowd with you." I can hear my brother murmur reassuringly. "It'll be okay Faye, it won't be you..."

"That's right..." my sister pulls me into a tight squeeze, kissing my brittle hair. "Don't worry sweetie..."

She's trying to sound like Mom would, if Mom was still coherent enough to comfort people. Last time I even saw Mom, she didn't recognise me as her daughter. She recognised my brother and sister, but not me. Then she went into a long tangent on how disgusting tattoos are.  
I suppose I'm glad that Mom isn't here. It'll take some explaining to the roll call takers- but she probably wouldn't have handled this very well. And as far as I know, Dad was meant to be on holiday in the resort side of the Capitol- which is somewhere around Sector... Sector... 12?

This effectively rules out my parents being here, meaning I have only my Freudian excuses for siblings to console me. Surprisingly this fact cheers me up a little. It's more than some girls my age have.

My sister leaves me in the safety of some girls my age once our names are marked off, but not before giving me one more kiss to my forehead. It feels familiar, and I wonder if Mom used to do that when I was a small child- but I can't remember right now.

The air surrounding me feels so tense. Every girl seems to be dealing with this reaping differently, though they're all masking the same innate fear of being chosen. There are confident smirks, rueful smiles and even the spare girl who is openly bawling while using her neighbouring friends as crutches.

I feel very blank in comparison. There's no one for me to lean on, since I've never really become good friends with the girls my year. Reading was really more my style, and what few friends I had could hardly be called 'best friends'.

-Though I'm sure everyone knows I'm just as terrified as them all. Possibly even more, taking into account the intense paranoia that is swallowing me up inside.  
What if I'm chosen? I had nightmares about being chosen- as a faceless tribute from an unknown District. I was surrounded by large, bulky tributes about three times my size- wielding tree trunks and cleavers covered with my blood.

Waking up didn't make me feel any better. Neither did throwing up.

Nausea is clamping me from all sides. I clutch my stomach and teeter backwards and forwards on my feet- hoping the rocking motion will somehow alleviate my symptoms. I shouldn't have eaten anything, not when it makes me feel this ill...  
-Or is it not the breakfast making me sick... but just _being _here...?

The mayor has stepped up to the podium. It's a woman with black hair, tied back into a sleek bun. A pair of butterfly spectacles a perched upon her pointed nose as those eagle like eyes stare out across the gathering of our Sector.  
She doesn't even have to say anything for everyone to fall silent. It's like a silent power she alone can command. I'd be impressed if I wasn't so terrified.

"I will now read the Treaty of Treason, as is the tradition during the reapings of the Districts..."

-And just from that, all my sudden respect for this apparently unintelligent mayor disappears. There's no point in reading that Treaty. It means _nothing_ to us. Am I the only one in this crowd that recognises that...? It wouldn't surprise me if I was. No one else seems to enjoy reading like I do... at least no one ever willing to admit it...

I wonder if our Mayor recognises how silly the Treaty is. It's just a huge guilt trip on the Districts, and hardly an actual Treaty to make things fair. I bet there are kids watching this on the television and wrinkling their nose over how stupid this all must be.

The Treaty is long, and fairly uninteresting. I instead focus on the woman standing behind our Sector's mayor. She has feathery yellow hair and rather dangerous looking heels. No two escorts look alike, or that's what I hear at least.  
As the mayor finishes her speech and begins to roll up the paper she was reading it on, she looks behind her to the woman and then back again to crowd.

"-I would now like you to direct your attention to... Baby... who will be our Sector's escort..."

There are a few breaks of giggles in the crowd, and even I have to hold myself back from cracking a smile. Some of these escorts really do have ridiculous names, but it's not until you hear one like 'Baby' when you realise that they had no hope for a serious career at any stage.

"Hello Sector 6!" Baby cries out in a high pitched voice. "I'm your escort _Baby_- and now it's time to see who our tributes for this Quarter Quell will be!"

Somehow I think she was waiting for applause, but no one claps- so she instead skips along to the table that supports the glass balls, and Baby gives her shoulders a little wiggle before she reaches her hand into the reaping ball with a sticker marked 'Girls' on the side.

-She must be pretty stupid if she knew she couldn't remember which ball was going to be which. I'm absolutely positive that none of the District escorts in any of the games I've watched used _stickers_.

Baby's fingers have clasped around a slip, and the crowd goes deathly silent. I watch with my pulse pounding in my temples as she totters up to the microphone, delicately unfolds the slip, clears her throat- and reads-

"Faye-Anna Co... Coco... Cho...?"

Ah... is that...

"Yes, Faye-Anna Cholores!" Baby looks beside herself with glee. "Can we please have Faye-Anna Cholores up here?"

It is... that's my name she's mispronouncing up there... I was chosen?

"Where is Faye-Anna Cholores?"

The girl beside me has cautiously nudged me, perhaps to remind me what's happening- but my body has gone stiff and I can't move. Does this mean that I was paranoid for good reason? I really am being chosen... me... Faye-Anna Cholores...

Peace Keepers are heading towards me since I'm making no effort to move myself. My weak body is effortlessly pulled along by two of them as they hold both my arms and lead me up to the stage- almost as my brother and sister had done earlier.  
-And just like being left alone in the crowd, I'm left by the Peace Keepers atop the stage- with the entirety of Sector 6 staring at me.

...I feel so ill right now... I don't feel as scared as I do absolutely horrified that I'm going to die unless someone volunteers to die for me. But Baby is already crying out 'going twice-!' and no one looks like they're even slightly propelled to move.

I wish I was back home, reading my depressing but honest books about how terrible the world is in the safety of my comfortable clothes- rather than stand up here in this vibrant celebration of death wearing a dress that only accentuates my frailty.

My stomach begins to turn and my head grows dizzy while I feel my balance shift unsteadily from side to side. I want to throw up. I think I'm really going to throw up because of all this-

"Faye-Anna, congratulations, you are Sector 6's tribute for the Fifth Quarter Quell!"

A round of applause. I clutch my arms around my stomach as I usually do when I feel ill- and I do my best to ignore the cameras circling around me. I can already hear Baby rustling about in the boy's reaping ball for the slip. But as she clacks up to the podium with her heels and opens her mouth- a voice suddenly breaks the silence-

"I VOLUNTEER AS MALE TRIBUTE!"

My body jolts in surprise. Looking up, I watch as a boy- a tall, muscular guy- around sixteen years old if I have to guess- swiftly makes his way to the steps, stepping up and taking his place before Baby can even drop the slip of paper.

"-what's your name darling?" Baby batts her eyelids, in a rather unflattering way.

"Brandit," the boy is breathless from his stride towards the stage. "Brandit Gailer."

The name rings a bell, a very vague bell. His eyes meet with mine and he gives me an exhausted smile that makes my sickness melt away in the wake of confusion.

-why is he so willing to die?

"Well, if there aren't any other tributes..." the puffy lipped blonde seems a little lost. We don't know the volunteering protocol when someone is so willing like Brandit. "I suppose we have our two tributes!"

Brandit turns to me and holds out a hand without being prompted by Baby. Hesitantly, I hold out mine. We shake hands for a brief moment, and then Brandit retracts his hand and gives me a curt nod that resembles a bow.

...I don't know what to do. The crowd is cheering and Brandit is smiling, and my twisting stomach has been replaced by an odd sensation of butterflies.

What's happening to me...?

**

* * *

**

To my unwelcome surprise, Brandit and I are forced to have our goodbyes in front of each other in lieu of what was supposed to be a pair of separate tents. Baby flusters something about delivery mix-ups before leaving without explaining any further.

-The two of us come to an unspoken agreement to go to opposite sides of the room to have our goodbyes. There's no privacy, but we're sort of pretending.

My goodbyes are awful, as expected. My sister weeps hysterically into my shoulder- and my brother shouts obscenities at the Peace Keeper guarding the exit, as if it's his fault I was chosen. I spend the entire time looking down, trying to calm myself – but also wondering why I'm not screaming with tears like I thought I might.

"Did you say goodbye to Mom...?" my sister asks between breaths. "B-Before you left...?"

"Yeah..." I did say goodbye, but Mom had been asleep at the time. "Yeah I did..."

There's little else for them to say. What can they say? _Don't worry, you'll certainly win?_ They may be socially inept- but they're not stupid. God... I'm going to miss these two.

"We'll sponsor y-you!" I can hear my sister cry into my shoulder. "P-Promise... I promise..."

Ten more minutes of my sister crying pass before the Peace Keeper steps up and instructs them to leave. My brother moves to try and fight him- but I hold onto his arm as a silent plea not to do anything stupid. He falls back, reluctantly.

"...you're smart Faye..." my brother mutters. "You... you use that... okay?"

I nod. What else can I say to that? I sit and watch as my two siblings, the only part of my weird family I could have counted on seeing me today, disappear behind the heavy doors of the Sector 6 performance hall.

I'm all alone; all alone with nothing to keep my company, not even a token or the sickness in my stomach. Looking up from my knees I can see Brandit resting his head against the wall behind him, staring at the ceiling.  
I wonder if he's as worried as I am about what's to come next. He's one of the few people who volunteered, so maybe he's not... then again; I never really understood how volunteers for the Hunger Games thought...

Brandit isn't like me at all. He's the opposite of me. I'm thin and weak, while he's muscular and obviously strong. I'm pale from reading indoors all my life, and he's a tanned bronze from all his working out.  
...but what I'm most jealous of... is the one thing he has, and that I so clearly don't have...

...a chance...

...a chance to survive this Quell.

* * *

**Review if you have the time! I'd still love to hear some suggested songs I should listen to. :D**


	13. S6, Condemned Volunteer

**A Vivid Note: **at the end of this part, we will be officially _half-way done _with the reapings. Please excuse me while I _die_. Haha, I'm just joshing you. Especially about using the word 'joshing', I mean who in the world uses that?  
Besides- I'd like to thank you all again for your fantastic feedback. It's really helped me stay on track so far, despite the hard work this really has been- plus all the school work I've juggled alongside it. So thank you, all of you! :)

This tribute was made by _Everbloom Montgomery, _and, sadly, he seems to be a nice guy. So far you've all expressed that you think all the tributes are. I do wish I could give you a tribute to hate, but I hold the belief that if a character is _naturally_ detestable- they're not really being portrayed right.

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Brandit Gailer; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 6._

I'm suffering from an intense case of mood-whiplash. On the one hand, I've spent my entire adolescent life enjoying the festivities of the games every year, but on the other hand I'm suddenly very forcibly aware of the pain it brings to every District family who lost a child.

-Funny, how I was able to ignore it until it was my friends and family that is up for the reaping. And by 'funny' I mean 'incredibly _depressing _and not remotely funny in the slightest'. If anything it makes me feel sort of bad for being so ignorant all these years.

Not that it wasn't easy to be ignorant; but as far as I can tell, no one else in the entire Sector seems to have picked up on the moral dilemma like I have. At least no one I know.

"What do you want to get for lunch Brandit?"

"-oh don't ask him, he'll choose something terrible and healthy, let's go somewhere that serves steaks or cake or... steak cake."

"That sounds _disgusting_."

-Ah, prime examples of what I was just thinking. There is my dear elder brother Vin, eighteen years of age and still more brawn than brain. Alongside him walks my little sister, Neon- who is ironically growing up to be the family runt in both those aspects.  
It's too hard not to love them though, despite how backwards they can seem. To be honest, I'm just as brain dead as both of them- but I seem to be the only one aware of it.

"-Brandit? Hello, earth to _doofus_-!"

"Excuse me?" I snort, staring down as Neon smiles cheekily up at me. "That's not the way to talk to your elder brother- _Snotball_."

Sure- it was juvenile; yes- but at all out of the ordinary? No. I momentarily delight in the fury Neon starts emitting about the quip, directed mainly at her vivid green hair, distracting me away from my ignorant thoughts of ignorance.  
I tower well over my brother and sister. Sure, all of our family are on the tall side- but I'm six foot seven. They sometimes say that I'm Brandit _Goliath_, not 'Gailer'.

It can't go unsaid that we don't at least _try _to be witty.

"Let's just pick a place to eat," Vin ruffles at his fringe slightly with his fingers. "How about pizza, we haven't had that in a while-"

That's a lie, but I won't argue. Since our parents are rather lazy when it comes to house duties- take out is basically all we live on. Though, I'll accept that we never go _out _to have take-away.  
-Besides, why complain? I love pizza. It just takes a while to work off the fat- and that's not even a problem since I bench press for a living.

Inside the pizzeria, despite the excess of fluorescents, it's freezing. I can't help but laugh as Neon lets out a little yelp of discomfort from the sudden blast of cold the air conditioners push on us. It lets up a little by the time we reach our seat, but I can't help but wish I had pulled on a jacket before leaving the house this morning.

"I really wish they'd get new chairs," Neon grumbles sourly. She shifts about on the vinyl seats, making loud squeaking noises. "These are _so _uncomfortable..."

"Just sit still then." Vin snickers.

It's sort of nice how, even after so many years of being siblings- none of us have really changed. We still squabble and banter about things that don't matter, obsess over television shows like Hunger Games- and basically act like... well, the kids we used to be.

Or are. I don't know really. Heh.

"-there are so few people out today," I hear Neon mumbling. "D'ya reckon they're scared of being reaped or something?"

Suddenly I perk up at the shoulders. This is a topic I'm interested in, as terrible as that sounds. Yeah, I may now be rethinking the whole morality issue of the Games- but that doesn't stop me from relishing them a little. I never enjoyed the killing part of the games, but everything else was always a little interesting  
Plus I've been pondering them a lot more since the reading of the card- and for more reasons than just the whole Quell deal.

"-I'm not scared," Vin states in that bold way he does sometimes. "What are the odds of me being picked anyway? Not only that- I definitely bet people will be volunteering to be a part of it."

"You think so?" I tilt my head at my older brother, smiling. "Then why is everyone at home, panicked?"

"I don't know- nerves?" Vin shrugs. I chortle a little as his upper lip twitches. "Come on Brandit, you know the guys that live around here- I'm sure there are volunteers planning to make their move today. It's their chance to go down in history."

Yeah. As a dead person.

"-there won't be any girl tributes though," Neon sighs, propping her head up on the back of her hand. "The only girls here who exercise only do it to get with the instructors."

I feel my face grow hot as Vin and Neon exchange coy smiles. This is a shot at me, since I teach a workout class at the neighbourhood gym. The reason this is highly inappropriate, if not a little rude?

I teach elementary school kids.

"I'm just kidding Brandit!" Neon giggles as I push a hand to my face. "I'm not accusing you of being a cradle robber... literally."

If she wasn't my younger sister, I'd probably be trying to hurt her right now. Sadly she is, and I pride myself on being a respectable, Capitol gentleman.  
-oh but she is going to _pay _later. I don't know how, but she will. I'll do something to tick her off for this.  
Desperate to change the subject, I carry right on with talking about the Games. Usually you'd have to be careful about what you say in public, but the Pizzeria is pretty empty- and by the looks of things, the staff hasn't even noticed we're here.

"It's sort of weird though, isn't it?" I look at Vin, who stops smiling. "The Games were made to punish the Districts right? Why would _any _of the Quells be directed at punishing us?"

"I don't know..." Vin's eyes trail along the side of the table. "-maybe it's a joke or something, or there's some meaning to it we don't get..."

"-my friend Sydni says that it was a huge mistake," Neon chips in, but in a very hushed voice that makes it sound like a big secret. "She said that the Quell card was replaced by the President to punish certain people."

I force back a snort of disdain. Yeah, that sounds plausible... to the little kids who know nothing about what this has done to the President's career and Capitol politics. Ever since he read out the card- the rumours of his expulsion from office have exploded. By the looks of things- what with the endless stream of propaganda advertisements- they're true.

"They've already done forensic tests Neon," Vin snorts. He finally picks up the menu and begins to read through it. "It hasn't been touched since it was placed in there. It's a legit' card..."

I can't help but chuckle as Neon pouts, swiping her own menu off the table and burying her nose in it. For a girl so young, she takes everything she says and hears directly to heart. I suppose growing up in the Gailer house did that to her- especially with two elder brothers who are constantly competing with each other. She was always sort of left out by default since she was a girl.

-not that she never tried to anyway. In actuality- Neon's a lot more competitive than I am.

"-If I was stronger, I'd totally volunteer," Neon looks at Vin and then to me. "I mean, no one in the Capitol is really that strong, so it'd be easier for us than it is for the District kids- right?"

Well, she might not be entirely wrong there- but she's leaving out the important fact that you have to single-handedly kill those other Capitol kids. I'm a little taken aback by how blunt she's being about all this, even though it's not really out of the ordinary for Neon.  
She's brought up a point I've been thinking about for a while though. An idea that I've been shoving to the back of my mind since I heard the card read out.

Volunteering.

I'm not suicidal or anything and I'm certainly not at all vicious or murderous either. It's not that I'm desperate to have a piece in the games or anything like that but... I can't shake the feeling that this is a huge opportunity.

I've never been sure of what I want to be in my life. I wanted to do something like be a peace keeper, or become part of the Capitol army- but the idea of being forced around by superiors all my life sort of... bugs me. I don't know why. I'm certainly not a rebel of any sort.

"We're ready to order now!"

"Neon- they'll spit on your food if you're rude like that!"

As Neon continues to pout and drum her fingers on the table, Vin and I both roll our eyes and share a smirk. I sincerely hope that I'm successfully masking the internal workings of my mind; because if they knew what I was thinking, I'm positive that they'd talk me out of it.

-And I think this should be a decision that I make alone.

After all, it's not every day you ponder whether or not you're willing to put your life on the line for a game... especially not when you're a teenage Capitol kid.

Perhaps that's why I want to do it.

**

* * *

**

By the time we're done eating, we have about half an hour before the reapings are due to start. Neon is slowly becoming more and more excitable, as well as harder to keep up with as we walk towards the designated street for the reapings.  
We're about a block or two away now, and already I can tell that it's going to be packed beyond tolerable standards. Who says that neighbourhood unity in the Capitol is dead?

"-this is going to be so great!" Neon squeals, bouncing about us in her euphoria. "Are you guys as excited as I am for this?"

"I don't think _anyone _is as excited as you are Snotball," I chortle. "-why are you so excited anyway?"

She looks at me as if I'm a complete idiot. Knowing her, that's probably what she usually thinks of me- regardless of idiotic questions.

"Today we're going to see someone from our own _neighbourhood _go into the Hunger Games," I bite back my tongue to keep from laughing. Neon's eyes go huge when she's making a point. "Aren't you at all excited to see that happening?"

"I guess..." I reach over and ruffle up her hair, which causes her to duck away from my reach. "I'm glad you're having fun, today of all days."

Just for a second, I see the brief look of confusion start across my little sister's face. However she's given no time to ask me about my sentimentality- because a pair of skinny arms grabs her from behind as one of her friends- I don't remember any of their names- successfully surprise attacks her.

"Maybell!"

Vin snickers, just loud enough for me to hear him. For a change, I don't agree with him- despite the fact that the little girl's name is terribly unfortunate. The majority of the Capitol children have terrible names though, and I've learned to keep my mouth shut.  
-I mean, my name is Brandit, son of _Brentin. _I'm glad I escaped the worst of it though. I have a sister called _Neon _after all.

"Look, I'm going to take off," Vin points ahead to the bustling crowd sorting themselves into age groups and ineligibles. "Do you have your mobile?"

I dig into my pocket and pull out the electronic brick my parents bought me, giving it a confirming shake. Vin grins- claps me on the shoulder- and quickly takes his leave as I'm left alone, standing with Neon and her babbling friend 'Maybell'.

"Brandit, where do we go?" Neon tugs on my sleeve. I can't help but smile; this is all a front she uses in front of her friends. "I can't see the thirteens section anywhere..."

I look around for the signs pinned onto each roped off section. Sure enough, closest towards us on the right hand side I see the flimsy piece of paper marked '**13's**'.

"There." I point over to the area as Neon and Maybell stand on their toes to see. "-think you can get your name marked off without your big brother holding your hand?"

Wrinkling her nose, Neon grabs Maybell's arm and pulls her in the direction of the roll call stations. I manage to catch a small glimpse of Maybell eyeing me curiously before focusing her attention back on Neon.  
I've heard that a good bulk of the girls in Neon's year have 'crushes' on me. Sort of makes me regret teaching my weights class to younger students. Perhaps I should stop with the fake tans and let myself go as some sort of repulsion technique. Haha.

"Oh Bran-_muffin_-!"

I'm given seconds to stop myself from toppling right onto my face as a familiar hand slaps me hard in the centre of my back. Spinning about and desperate not to stumble- I openly groan as that familiar pair of violet eyes gleam into mine.

"Jel, seriously- degrading _and _painful." I try to rub my back but my hand doesn't reach it properly so I give up with a huff and a smile. "Where are the guys?"

As I knew it would, an annoyed pout puffs against Jel's lips from being overlooked. Flicking her short blonde hair and folding her arms- she pretends to snub me.  
This isn't anything new. Jel and I have been friends since we were kids, so the teasing and friendly flirting is sort of a routine. I won't go so far as to say I have _no _feelings for her, but it's a given- seeing how gorgeous we both are.

That was a joke. I'm not that up myself.

...but she is.

-Joking. Joking!

"I'm sorry Jel," I wink, giving her a little curtsy as the smile returns to her face. "It's nice to see you again."

"That's better," Jel giggles, throwing an arm around my neck in a headlock. "So, did you hear? There are gonna be _lots _of volunteers in just a few moments~"

"What?" My heart beats against my chest. I didn't know that. "I thought that no one wanted to-"

"Oh, many people don't," Jel pulls her arm back and brushes down her dress, subtly trying to draw attention to it. "-but Harry and Spec are considering it."

It takes all of my inner strength not to let out a cry of alarm. Since _when _were they considering it? Why hadn't my friends at least mentioned it to me that they were thinking of volunteering for a Game where losing means _dying_?

"R-Really?" I'm not great at covering my feelings, but I can try. "Uh... reckon they'll go through with it?"

"Mmm..." Jel takes a moment to think about it before answering. "I reckon Spec won't go through with it, but Harry certainly might. He's been training like _crazy _since the card was read out."

Crap. I had thought he was just abusing his hormone supplements again. Suddenly everything makes a lot more sense and everything I've been considering is spinning into high gear.

"H-Haha, well that's great..." I'm starting to feel a little sick. I don't want Harry to volunteer. He'd get killed for sure, that big headed steroid abuser. "W-What about you...?"

Jel's eyes flash with surprise. I'm never usually concerned with her own choices- but when it comes to my friends potentially dying- I think it's safe to admit that I give a care.

"Well... I'd be lying if I said I haven't considered it," she smiles as she flicks her scrawny arms with her fingers. "-And with guns like these, who can blame me? I'd totally kick butt."

Laugh Brandit, laugh. I manage to churn out a louder laugh than I'd usually give for such a meagre joke- but Jel seems to accept it fine.

"-What about you?" I swallow as Jel looks at me with interest and mild worry. "Are you going to go for it too?"

She looks a little concerned, which is surprising since she and the rest of my friends are huge Hunger Games fans. This makes it all the harder to maintain eye contact as I struggle to lie.

"N-No... I don't think I will..."

I'm such a hypocrite. Getting all worked up inside because my friends haven't told me their plans for these games. I haven't told them my plans either. So I should have no right to be upset with them... but...

"-I will now read the Treaty of Treason, as this is the tradition-!"

"Ah!" Jel grabs my hand in surprise. The mayor has already begun the reaping. "Come on Brandit, we've got to get our names marked off-"

-I should tell her. I can feel my throat go dry as I watch her whisper slash mime our names to the roll call takers. As Jel flashes me a brilliant smile of success, I can't help but feel sick to my stomach knowing what a terrible friend I'm about to become.

"The boys section is just there, so I'm over there-" Jel hushes, pointing. "Let's meet up in the middle when-"

She begins to move away from me, and a sudden jolt of panic surges through me. My hand shoots out and grabs her arm- pulling her into my side. Somehow Jel manages to swallow the yelp of surprise, but she stares up at me in bewilderment.

"Brandit-?"

"Wait." I hiss through gritted teeth. Jel's body goes rigid with alarm. "I'm so sorry."

Over my whispers all that can be heard is the mayor's stern voice across the crowd, introducing the Sector's escort. It all seems to fade away though as I struggle to find the words for my apology.

"You're..." Jel's eyes lock on mine. "You are... you _are _going to...?"

Without a moment's hesitation, I nod. Several guys around us are looking at Jel with baffled looks on their faces- wondering what a girl is doing in the boy's section. She ignores it- trying to process what I'm telling her.

"-then I am too," Jel's voice is breathless. I shake my head as her eyes narrow. "_Brandit_- I have to! You can't kill teenagers-!"

"Neither can you," I hiss back, gripping her arm tightly. "Jel, I have to do this. I know I have to."

"-What on earth will you gain from volunteering-?"

The escort introduces herself in a bubbly voice, but neither of us is paying attention. I'm vaguely aware that- just beside me- Spec has found Jel and me and is trying to understand what's going on.

"-Jel, you have to trust me," I mutter desperately. "I've thought about it a lot, and I know I can do it. I'm saving some other idiot from dying, and that idiot could very well be someone we know-"

"I don't _care _if some other idiot we know gets picked-" Jel begins furiously.

A girl's name is read out. It's no one I recognise, and frankly I don't care right now. Jel stares at me, casting a sideways glance to the stage as a small girl is pulled up by the arms by two peacekeepers. The escort will ask for volunteers soon.

"If you're going to do this, I'll volunteer." Tears are forming in the corners of Jel's eyes. "Swear you won't. _Swear _Brandit, or god help me I'm going to get up there right now."

Spec opens his mouth silently, perhaps trying to ask what we're talking about- but neither of us pay any attention to him. Instead, I pull up every screed of effort left in me as I let my gaze fall to the floor- just as I hear the escort call out for volunteers one final time.

"...I swear."

With a sigh of relief- Jel pulls her arm out of my grasp. Spec nudges me a little in an attempt to get my attention- still trying to work out what's going on- but I pay no attention to him. Inside my head I can feel the painful realisation that I'm about to push away everyone who loves me for the sake of myself.

They're never going to forgive me for this.

Her hand slips inside the reaping ball. My body goes rigid as she steps up to the podium- holding aloft the name that will never be read.

-but I have to do this, to prove I can do this. I have to do this for myself.

In that slow moment as I raise my hand- I see Jel's eyes widen. But I don't look back.

_I'm not sorry_.

"I VOLUNTEER AS MALE TRIBUTE!"

**

* * *

**

"...is there anything you want to say?"

Honestly, there isn't. I sort of wish I could've told the Peacekeeper not to let any visitors in. However I'm sure I'd regret that later if I had.

Vin is strangely rigid for the brother I've known these past sixteen years. No smile breaks his face, no jokes break the silence. His hand is clamped tightly around Neon's- whose face has turned to glass.

"...I couldn't tell you guys," I smile. It's genuine smile, but I can see the hurt it's causing. "Honestly... weren't you guys saying it'd be easy to win in these games?"

"-what the _hell _do we know?" Vin says stiffly. Neon's body begins to shiver. "I sure hope you didn't tell that to Mom and Dad-"

"I didn't have to," I shrug. I won't lie, I'm starting to feel a little annoyed with the expressions my siblings are giving me. "They were fully supportive."

"Bullshit." Vin growls, causing me to recoil on the bench.

"-Vin-!" Neon squeaks, tugging his hand. "-don't-!"

"So this is our final goodbye before I go off to the games?" I raise my eyebrows, still trying to be as pleasant as possible. "So long, get killed?"

"-well you're going to die," I feel my lip twitch as my elder brother rises to his feet. "You idiot... you absolute... Neon-"

Neon begins to cry silently. As Vin pulls her away by the arm- I reach out and poke her gently on the nose before giving her a quick wink.

"I won't die," I say softly. "Trust me, when have I ever lied to you?"

Neon's tears stop instantly. Vin freezes as my little sister suddenly yanks her little arm out of his grasp and slaps it hard against my face. I double back in alarm as Neon stands there- shaking with anger.

"-you lied when you didn't tell me you were going to do this!"

I can't think of anything to say. Gingerly touching the place on my cheek- I watch as my two siblings disappear from my sight. It takes me a moment, but I call over the Peacekeeper and tell him not to let anyone else in, and that I'm done seeing people.

-I don't want to see any of my friends. One slap is more than enough for my decision.

_Well... this was your choice._

There's nothing left to do but wait, so I lean back against the wall and try to focus on the ceiling. But, across the hall the other tribute, Faye-Anna Cholores- is still talking with her own brother and sister.  
I can't help but feel a little envious. She has support because this was something she didn't choose to do. I have no support because I _willingly _wanted to do this.

I'm not sure why, but this thought hurts more than the realisation that I'm effectively all alone in these games. It hurts, and brings about a strange feeling of hatred for all the unknown tributes I'm yet to meet.

So here I am huh...? The first volunteer for the Capitol games... saving the life of some poor guy who didn't want to die... and I'm hated for it.

It's nice to know that society works.

* * *

**Reviews make the world go round, round, round... haha, jokes. :D**


	14. S7, Burning Star

**A Vivid Note: **we're a little more than halfway done with the reapings! I've already written up some of the chapters for _after _the reapings (_so I can update faster when we get there_) but reapings take a lot of time and effort on my part, to make them separate, special pieces that hold meaning.  
I am sorry it's taking so long, but I'm _graduating in a month_ and there's a lot to be done. My spare time is very limited, so I don't have much in the way of free-choice writing time.

This chapter introduces you to a tribute written by _GhostWrite123, _and she's more comical compared to the other tributes- but comedy is _always_ welcome with me. I'm hoping I was able to write her sufficiently enough.

**Please be sure to take the poll on my profile! I'll be changing it every so often, and this week I am asking which animal muttations you would **_**most**_** like to see in play these games.**

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Galaxy Jones; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 7._

I'm so insulted and angry, I could almost cry. Human beings are just _so _insensitive sometimes! At times like this, I can't help but feel that my 'parents' aren't human at all- not with the way they act.

Slamming my door isn't an act of frustration- but a sign to my 'adoptive' Mother not to continue on after me. Of course, when I fall down onto my bed- she's already outside my door and calling out in that shrill, unnatural voice-

"It was just a suggestion sweetie; you don't _have _to cut your hair."

So insensitive, I can hardly stand living with her. I'm sure my real Mother wouldn't ever say such a thing, even as a _suggestion_. Everyone knows how much I adore my hair; with its silky white tresses that just glide over your hands. I don't even have to straighten it; I wake up in the morning like this.

-but _no_. She doesn't care. No one cares about how _I _feel. Why should they? I'm just _stupid, vapid _Galaxy Jones. 'Lexie' Jones. I've even been called 'Dyslexia' Jones, whatever _that's _supposed to mean.

"Come out here sweetie- let's hug and make up before you have to go."

"No!" I push my wet eyes into my pillow, not sparing a thought for the make-up stain I'm surely creating. "Go away! I want some privacy!"

Though I can't understand exactly what she says, what with me burying my face so deep into my pillow and all- I hear the woman's footsteps retreat away from my bedroom, calling out to my brother that I'm being difficult.  
Like _that's _going to do anything. Saturn rarely cares when I'm upset anymore. He insists it's because I'm so easily upset- but I didn't hear the rest of that argument since I ended up slamming the door on his hand out of anger.

I'll admit to being a tad emotional, but I always heard that was a good quality. Now all of a sudden it's a terrible thing to be and no one will stop saying that. Every time I hear it, it makes me upset...

"Galaxy-" I scrunch my eyes tighter as my 'Father' raps lightly on the door. "I hope you're getting ready, we don't have much time until the reapings."

"Go away!" I cry over my shoulder, throwing the pillow against the headrest. "I'm getting ready, just go away!"

My adoptive Father is a lot less persistent than my adoptive Mother is. I almost sigh in relief that he walks away without needing to be told to several hundred more times. Though it's almost guaranteed that he too has gone off to tell my brother that I'm upset- but again, Saturn won't bother. He never does.

Our family has sort of fallen apart since our parents died.

It was an accident, as it usually is here in the Capitol. People rarely get murdered here, especially when they're in really unimportant jobs like being a geologist and an astronomer. I had always hoped they'd grow old and die after I'd moved out, gotten married and opened my rock museum for all the rock samples I've collected.

Don't laugh; it's a real dream of mine!

-But all that's sort of in the past now that they're dead. I haven't had the heart to go on any digs for gemstones or anything since the fire that killed them and burned down our house was put out. Saturn confessed it was his fault- and even though the authorities didn't blame him- I certainly did.

I know I shouldn't, because he was just a little kid at the time, but I do. It's his fault that I have to grow up with no real parents to help me as I try to struggle through life. I know he feels guilty too, but I can't hide the feelings. I don't think I'll ever really get over it.

What makes all that worse, is that at the time- my parents had signed up for the 'emergency replacement' program, in case anything _did _happen to them. I guess they never thought it would- but when it did- Saturn and I were left in the hands of our new replacement, 'adoptive' parents.

-I know it sounds ridiculous, but even though they're apparently real people who signed up to take care of orphaned children- I swear they're either robots or something. Sure, I've seen them eat, go into the bathroom and go to sleep- but they can program that now... can't they?

Getting ready is usually really fun, but after what that robotic 'Mother' of mine said, I don't think I'll enjoy anything today. To spite her though, I decide to wear my long white hair down instead of up, meaning that I'll have to take care for it not to get tangled about my legs. It's quite long, if I do say so myself, but that's what makes it beautiful. That's what I think anyway.

Being pretty in the Capitol is different to being pretty in the Districts. In the Districts, I think girls worry more about not starving away into sticks and bones rather than the length and color of their hair. Here, girls have to contend with being the right size, shape, color- and that means your skin, hair, eyes and pretty much _everything _else! I mean, it's all customisable after all.

I have red skin and a slightly brighter shade of red for my eyes- to represent my likeness to a burning super nova. I don't think it comes across too well, because no one really gets it unless I explain it to them- and they _should _get it.  
Along with that, I still have some alterations from past crazes; the webbed toes and fingers from the amphibious craze, the many, _many _tattoos from the rebel craze- and, _my _personal favourite- the elaborate dragon tattoo...

...on my tongue.

It always makes me smile when I poke out my tongue and see the shock even from the savviest of Capitol people. Those expressions were worth the three weeks of having to eat absolutely everything through a rubber tube.

I'm not so sure what to wear, since I haven't exactly _been _to a reaping before- so I pick out several dresses to muse over and a pair of strappy gold heels, which will go with anything really. I have a fluttery sort of gold dress, a sleek one that sort of fades from yellow and orange into blue, and finally a glimmering white one that I usually wore to weddings and fancy dress parties.

"...the fading one-"

Letting the two other dresses fall in a heap on the floor, I quickly strip down and zip myself into my slinky gradient dress, turning this way and that to get a good view of myself from every angle.

Okay, so I'm not a _classic _beauty, but I think I look pretty good. One day I really will be the super nova of all Capitol girls. Right now I'm more of a... red dwarf, that's all.  
I'm looking forward to seeing my friends again, and it's not very often the entire neighbourhood assembles for anything.

Who knows- today might just be the day of new beginnings for Galaxy Jones! I might meet a guy in that crowd of eligible tributes, or a talent escort or something... I wouldn't mind being a model as well as a rock museum... operator person.

-I should probably find out what the title would be. Museum director, maybe?

"Lexie-" My little brother's voice sifts through the cheap wood of my bedroom door. "Uh, they asked me to come talk to you..."

'They' obviously means the robotic replacement parents, too stupid to give up. As if that isn't annoying enough, I can't believe Saturn is actually following up on something the robo-dummies asked him to do.

"Go away," I sit myself down at my make-up table, busying myself with my earrings. "I'll be out in a few minutes, I'm almost done-"

"No- Galaxy they're asking if you want them to come with us-"

I'm surprised he's being so persistent. Usually Saturn knows better than to continue talking through my door after I've called out for him to leave once. Perhaps it's because I'm not crying or screaming, and he's chosen to ignore me.

"I never _want _them to come anywhere with me." I say flatly, narrowing my eyes. "You'd know that if you ever _listen _to what I say-"

"Oh not this again-"

"Yes, _this _again-" I can't help myself; this always seems to be how our conversations end up. "If you _ever _listened to me, you'd know that I hate them-"

"They're our parents-" Saturn begins desperately, but I cut him off before he can even try to continue.

"No," I whirl about in my seat and stare furiously in the door's direction. "No, they're not _our _parents- _our _parents are dead, and you know why."

Okay, I'm being harsh- and Saturn's probably not going to talk to me now for at least a week- but I won't take back my words. I hear his silence for a moment, then the dull footsteps of defeat walking away from my doorway.

-It's too miserable a win to be happy about it. With a sigh, I slump onto my vanity table- pushing my forehead into my crossed arms.

I don't want to hate him. I really don't- but I can't control my emotions. I hate him for killing our parents, even if it was an accident. It's his fault I'm stuck in this house with robotic replacements. Yeah... he's right, everyone's right... I am an emotional person... and it isn't always a good thing... I know that...

-I'm so _sick _of crying.

**

* * *

**

In the end, I decided to make my own way to the reaping. Saturn had already left by the time I left my room- and the step parents happily agreed not to 'escort' me to the reaping. I keep reminding myself that this is what I wanted, but it feels really... empty- and sort of sad to shuffle off to a reaping... alone.

Saturn was apparently crying. Or at least- according to 'Robo-Mom' he was. I feel kind of bad- but I'm trying not to. I can't take back what I said, and part of me wouldn't anyway.

The streets are packed with people of all sorts of families making their way to the reapings together. If I wasn't so caught up in my own feelings already- I might have felt a little jealous. Usually I'd let myself be swept up in the hype of the games, like every year, but this time I just can't. Perhaps the whole 'reaping Capitol kids' is bothering me.

-I don't think it is, but I'm going to say it is.

As strange as it is, I have fond memories of the games and all that stuff. I remember having Mom wrap us up in this big, fluffy blanket, and she'd tell us all about the Districts that the kids came from. She didn't know all that much, but what she told me made me interested.

It's funny that our home should fall inside 'Sector 7', which I heard is like... the partner of 'District 7' or something. Mom used to love District 7- and she'd always say things about the paper and pine furniture or something.  
It's not my favourite District- I've always sort of liked District 5- but I can still remember Mom's breath in my ears as she so excitedly explained the importance of lumber and wood. Perhaps it was her favourite. I never really asked...

I can't be bothered to scout out my friends in the crowd, especially not since they'll all be on the verge of tears and that'll just make _me _cry. After all the effort I made on my make-up and eye glitter, crying now would be like flushing all that time and effort down the toilet.

It only takes a minute for the roll taker to mark off my name on the roster, and I manage to catch a glimpse of the list before he flicks the pages together. Saturn hasn't been marked off yet. I wonder why he's taken his time to get here, since he certainly wasn't home when I left.

-Now I'm really starting to regret what I said. I'll admit that I don't love Saturn as much as I should but... I don't think what I feel is hate... is it...?

Ugh, the crowd around me is positively suffocating. It's not that I don't like the other sixteen year old girls; it's just that liking them is really exhausting. I don't think I have the energy to chatter and blah on about everything after all the stuff that happened this morning.

I sidle in amongst the other girls, and I only have to smile awkwardly to several of them before I'm completely forgotten about again. I take the time I have to observe the street around me, with the streamers half-heartedly flying from the lampposts and the rickety wooden stage.  
I wish I could enjoy this more. I bet I would be able to if things were just a little different...

Just as I start to feel like I'm about to start snivelling- the mayor steps up to the rickety wooden podium and begins to read the treaty. No one really listens, but for a change I do- trying to distract myself from the guilt piling up inside me like snow.

Why did I have to be so mean to Saturn? I mean, I _know _why I was but... why aren't I better at hiding my feelings? I hate wearing my heart on my sleeve. Nothing about me is a secret. I bet everyone here can tell I'm totally clocked out of this whole reaping.

"-And as a yearly reminder that the Dark Days must never be repeated-"

I have to apologise. I have to find Saturn and tell him I'm sorry- or else it's going to bother me all day. I twist my body around and begin to scout the crowd- pushing my way through the girls that had congregated about me as I make my way out of the crowd.

"-_Hello _Sector 7! I'm your escort Peach, and it's time for us to pull the name of our female tribute! Everyone, fingers crossed~"

I break free of the crowd and stumble into the outside aisle. Inhaling deeply- I break into a slight run on the outside of the roped off potential tributes. In the corner of my eye I see a Peace Keeper go rigid and shout for me to stop.

I ignore it.

I need to apologise now before I let it get the better of me. I know I'll never be able to forgive him for what he did, but I don't want the last person of my family to be pushed away from me. I have to hold onto him- I have to apologise-

"-And our lucky girl is-"

A pair of hands grabs my shoulders- pulling me to a screeching stop. My breath is caught in my throat from alarm as the Peace Keeper tugs me backwards as I hear the escort's words cry out, crisp and clear-

"Galaxy Jones!"

-And it all goes blank.

_What_?

My shoulders stiffen. The Peace Keeper looks down at me, his tight grip loosening.

That's... That's me... isn't it? Galaxy... Jones...?

The escort, with her golden ringlets bouncing beside her cheeks, begins to call out the name, my name, over and over again. I can see Peace Keepers trying to comb out where I am from their positions- while the Peace Keeper who holds me forcibly looks me in the eyes.

"-you're Galaxy Jones."

It's not even a question he asks! I can't say anything- because my mind is in a panic. This isn't happening. Not once did I ever consider being picked- because that sort of thing doesn't happen to Capitol children. Surely this man can see that in my eyes- right? Right?

His hand grabs my arm as he begins to wrench me up towards the stage. Horrified, I strain against his pull- but it's no use. I can feel the eyes turning to stare at me as my eyes flood with tears of panic.

"No!" It escapes me before I can stop it. "No! Please, no! I don't want to! I don't want to-!"

"-l-let's have a big hand for our female tribute-"

She's not even asking for volunteers! The man's grip tightens as I stare wildly around at the crowd- my hair lashing about my face as I struggle to get away.

"You can't make me do this-!" I shriek desperately. My arm is paining so much from his brace. "I don't want to die-!"

They don't leave me alone on the stage, instead holding me there as I slowly give up the thrashing and stand still- on the verge of sobbing. Peach clops up the podium, the boy's name in her hand- but through the tear-warped vision of my eyes- I watch the scene unfurl.

Saturn is metres away from the stage. He's running. I feel my heart jump in my throat- and I open my mouth to stop him- but I'm too late. Something else stops him first.

-A dark arm, shooting out from the crowd of seventeens. It grasps my little brother around the mouth, pulling him behind the attacker as he steps into plain sight- staring up at the reaping stage with frightening dark eyes.

"I volunteer."

He's older than me- but that's not what I'm afraid of. I watch in paralysed fear as he calmly walks up the stage, taking his place beside me. His arms are decorated with swirls and spotted tattoos- drawn together like some sort of primitive, _tribal_ design.  
Out of the corner of his eye, he focuses on me- and I feel my blood run cold. The patterns move with his pulse- and, even though I've met and known many dark skinned people, this is the first time I've ever felt terrified of one.

"What's your name sweetheart?" Peach asks brightly, holding the microphone to his face. "Nice and loud-"

"Ferroh... Ferroh Axum."

-more chills run down my spine. Even his name petrifies me. The crowd begins to clap awkwardly as Peach prances about in front of us- congratulating our status as tributes- but I can barely take my eyes of my District partner. Saturn sits in the aisle still- his body quivering in fear from the arm that grabbed him- while I stand supported by the Peace Keeper- still crying from before.

I'm going to die.

Standing here on this stage, everyone knows it. I know it. This stranger, Ferroh, beside me knows it. Somewhere in this crowd, my adoptive parents must know it- and so does my little brother, staring up in grief from his place on the ground.

I'm going to _die._

"I-I don't want to-!"

-And with that, the Peace Keeper lets me crumple to my knees, wailing into my knees as the crowd's applause dies into the warm afternoon air.

**

* * *

**

I don't know what to do. I feel like I need to throw up, but every time I open my mouth- nothing comes out. Not even a breath, or a whimper. After my outburst on the stage it feels like all my emotional energy has evaporated.

The black guy, Ferroh, is still frightening, and I can't even see him through the wall of the tent. I just _can't_ shake the mental image of him and those weird tattoos that swirl and dot along his arm- holding a spear to my throat as he mutters something unintelligible.

I've spent my _whole life _saying I'm cool with people no matter what their race, beliefs or sexual orientation is- but I am absolutely terrified of this guy, and I don't have any reason to be scared except for these endless delusions of him skewering me with a variety of tribal weapons!

I'm not a racist. I'm not. I'm not...

Through the thin walls of the tent, I can hear the whispers of a girl, and the muffled sounds of someone else crying. I still haven't heard Ferroh's voice, but I'm positive that when I do it'll be as terrifying as the rest of him. I'm sure.

-I'm screwed. Galaxy Jones is officially _dead. _I'm not going to get any sponsors by the way I acted, crying and screaming like that. Everyone will think I was trying to run away- when I was trying to reach Saturn to apologise. They'll all think I'm a coward and that putting money on me would be a complete waste.

Even in the confines of this tent, I feel too broken to cry anymore. The tears I shed before might be the last I ever get to spill here in my own neighbourhood.

The parents already left. They didn't say much, just a pat on my shoulder and a few carefully devised words of condolences. It was obvious they aren't planning on me returning. I almost wanted to ask what they were going to do with my things- until I realised that it really doesn't matter.

-I hope they don't throw out my rock collection. I really hope they don't.

Now I wait. Wait for Saturn to come in and say goodbye. I keep trying to tell myself that it isn't forever, but then reality kicks in and I feel the need to cry again.  
This is going to be the last time. I don't know how, but I know it. Even if I do come back- how could I come back as me? The Games like... change people.

Several minutes pass before my brother steps inside the tent. Silence grips the two of us, which has always been rare with us siblings. We always seemed to be fighting, even though it was never over what mattered.  
My arms find themselves reaching out- pulling the boy who was not as small as I remembered him being this morning- and grasping him as tightly as I can. Saturn doesn't fight against my grip- but instead slumps forwards- hugging my head in his hands.

"-I'm sorry." He chokes out, sinking to his knees- hands slipping to my shoulders. "Sis' I'm sorry I killed them- I'm sorry-"

"-No I'm sorry-" My voice is raspy- probably from all the shrieking from before. "Saturn I'm sorry I... I'm your sister... I should've taken care of you-"

"I _killed _them Galaxy-" I swallow back the anguish as my little brother stares up at me in his own remorse, those bright green eyes swimming in tears I never wanted to see. "-And now you're... you're gonna..."

He never finishes that sentence. He didn't need to anyway. I know what he was going to say. I couldn't help thinking it either- ever since I saw him try and volunteer to die alongside me.

I'm going to die.

-And my brother will be all alone, without my love or my resentment to keep him company. Just a pile of empty, glittering rocks and robotic replacements for the parents he killed.

"...I'm sorry... I'm so sorry Saturn..."

-And for the first time... I really am.


	15. S7, Dark Heart

**A Vivid Note: **alright, now that I'm finished with school assessments, I'm kicking into high gear. I _**need **__to finish these reapings by the end of August_. I'm going to reap every screed of energy and writing prowess I possess and cram it into finishing the remaining reapings.

_**You**_ can help by sending me abusive/encouraging messages telling me to **get off my lazy Australian butt and to get **_**back**_** to writing**. Okay? I would _really _appreciate it. Haha.  
Also- I'd like to express the obvious, in case you haven't guessed, yes- I am biased. If you leave me lots of intelligent feedback, there's a better chance that I'll make your tribute's time in the arena a_ lot_ more fulfilling. Just making it clear darling. x

-also **please vote in the poll on my profile page **if you haven't done so already. Your vote makes a difference. Thanks. :)

This chapter brings us a tribute done by dear _Number One Fan of Journey_. I was so glad to receive a character like him He's going to be fun to watch, I can guarantee you. (_I have big plans for him... and most of the tributes, after all_.)  
Little note to Journey-chan, I wasn't sure what gender 'BB' was... so I flipped a coin and he came out a dude. Hope that's alright. ;D

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Ferroh Axum; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 7._

Three hundred and sixty-eight.

Since I've been born, and right up until this moment- I have seen and watched _three hundred and sixty eight _District kids die in the Hunger Games.

I've done the math. That's exactly one kid every day for a year- with an extra three remaining to drop dead. It almost makes a person feel sick- if it wasn't so alarming that it stops you from thinking straight. Part of me is almost unable to believe that, since I was born, so many people have died in the name of the Games.

-And this year, I'll have seen another twenty-three die.

Only this year is different. They aren't District kids this time. They're a whole different category. There'll be no starving, bedraggled District kids riding around on chariots, no bulking career types from 1 and 2 trying to wink their way through to the audiences' heart.

Instead, it'll be Capitol teenagers. Teenagers like me. Teenagers like my friends.

It sort of feels weird... to think about it like that. The thought of my friends being carved up and slaughtered on television makes me feel hollow to the core, more than watching District children ever has. Yeah, neither side really deserves to have their kids butchered in the name of entertainment- but if I had to choose, honestly...

"Ferroh sweetie- wake _up _sleepy head."

Grunting, I open an eye- focusing on the blurred silhouette that has entered my room to rouse me awake. Basic elimination tells me that it can only be my Mother shaking me awake- especially since no one else I know has a voice able to reach that kind of pitch without hurting themselves.

"Ma, it's only..." I pause to look over at the alarm clock situated across the room. I'm a heavy sleeper, so I put it over there to stop me from hitting snooze when it went off. "-Christ- it's barely nine o'clock Ma-"

"I'm not waking you up because of the time," My Mother huffed, pulling back the covers and shooing me to stand up. "Your friends are here."

A few seconds of me rubbing the crust out of my eyes pass before my shoulders stiffen with realization. Spinning about wildly, I grab the nearest pair of pants and begin to yank them over the measly pair of shorts I had slept in.

"-tell me that first next time-" I grunt as my Mother giggles. "Christ- what are they doing here at nine-?"

I'm not really asking a question, and Mom knows, so she doesn't answer- and instead finishes making up my bed and floats out of the room, still smiling from how funny she finds our morning interactions.  
They're usually like this- what with my alarm clock not sounding, me hurriedly pulling on some clothes and her leaving the room with that loopy sort of smile on her face. Only _usually _I'm in a hurry because breakfast is getting cold- not because my friends have decided to pay me a visit.

It's a rare occasion that my friends come to visit. I can only guess that it's purely because of the reaping. Nothing else would really explain it. My house isn't really that fun to hang out in anyway. The television is tiny and I don't have any video games.

I snare a quick glimpse of my reflection, but my vision is too blurred from having just woken up to recognise anything except the whites of my eyes against the black of my skin.  
Sort of a frightening reflection to behold so early in the morning; plus the fact I'm only wearing three quarter trousers makes me look like I'm dressing up tribal style. The tattoos don't help.

-Much to my surprise, and chagrin, all three of my 'buddies' are sitting in the living room, laughing about something that had just played on television. My Mother is in the bar across the room, and she shoots me a coy smile as she begins to busy herself with the drink cabinets.

"Fero-_roh_!" No sooner have I fallen onto the couch, Ashen- debatably the most eccentric of our group, throws her arms around my shoulders. "Good _morning _sleepy pea~!"

I let out a huff of air, blowing several strands of her hot pink hair out of my face. Further along the couch, I exchange a weak smile with BB, the only other guy in the group- as the ever passive Quinn sits and giggles over Ashen's antics.

"What are you doing here so early?" I sigh, pushing her off me with a brush of my arm. Ashen begins to pout as I lean against the arm of the couch. "I thought I told you that it's a struggle for me to wake up at noon?"

"-don't be such an old man Ferroh," Ashen chirps, looking ever vibrant as she plonks herself down beside Quinn. She puts an arm around the brunette and smiles her trademark grin. "Quinnie and I decided that today- in honour of the Capitol's first traitorous games upon its people- we should all go out and tear up this place to celebrate life!"

"...celebrate... life?" I smirk, holding back the urge to laugh uncontrollably. "You sure know _exactly_ when to throw a party, don't you Ash'?"

"It's a gift," the girl sighs, taking a moment to buff those manicured nails of hers. Today they're a deep red. "-And a curse, a terrible curse that I alone am burdened with... which is _why-_"

Ashen jumps to her feet, causing both BB and I to recoil backwards into the leather upholstery of the couch as she points two fingers squarely into both of our faces.

"-_you're _going to get wasted to the limit before that stupid reaping starts!" I don't know why, but Ashen decides now is the time to twirl about to emphasise her point, and then returning to pointing to our faces. "You two hear me, yeah soldiers?"

There's a clink of glasses on the coffee table as my Mother lays down a tray of brightly coloured drinks with umbrellas. As I look sideways, I see a twinge of embarrassment behind BB's yellow contacts- but I quickly give him a reassuring smirk.  
I wouldn't have expected any less from Ashen. Her idea of a good time has always been to party for little to no reason. Now that she's eighteen though- parties always involving getting smashed.

-Despite the fact the way she acts sober being more than embarrassing enough.

"-Because who knows-!" Huh? When did Ashen pick up that glass? "Today, one of _us _might be pulled from that big, shiny ball of doom- and I for one, am not going out without a fight! Do you hear me?"

"Hear hear..." BB murmurs, bemused.

"Take your best shot Capitol! You can't bring down the three- five- FOUR musketeers!" I reach for the drinks that are probably meant for BB and me- since they are the only two _without_ umbrellas. Ashen continues on, unheard. "We're troopers to the end-! Pull our name and feel our wrath-!"

"She'll wear herself out soon." Quinn smiles awkwardly as I grip my drink around the stem. "I think it's the nerves."

"-because we, the sunshine crew-!"

"-who came _up _with that name?"

I'm doing my best not to crack up with laughter. This is probably one of Ashen's more embarrassing speeches. There are tears of laughter brimming in BB's eyes, who is holding his nose so as not to snort out loud. Quinn has already given up the fight and is shaking with silent, uncontrollable laughter.

"-we raise our glasses, to our eternal lives as fighters and friends, which can never be ruined by the silly Capitol and its... silliness!"

With a flourish, Ashen thrusts her arm out above her head, slopping her drink down her arm. She doesn't notice, but finally I let out the blast of laughter before raising my own glass to the idiotic girl.

"Cheers!"

With that- the four of us scull the drinks in less time than it took to pick them up. In the corner of my eye I can see my Father, smiling as he speaks to Mom- who is already preparing the second, and by the looks of it- third batches of drinks.

I like my life. My family loves each other, I have fun- though admittedly _weird _friends, and I've been pretty fortunate in my life. Let it not go unsaid that Ferroh Axum hasn't enjoyed the wild ride. I've dabbled in tattoos, drinking, and the occasional party drug- but in the end, I always end up right back here- in the company of my insane friends and adoring parents.

It isn't long before Ashen is completely off the rails and babbling in slurs which don't sound even incoherently at all like English- and by the time an hour and a half passes, and a whole pile of little umbrellas- and Quinn, who is undoubtedly the most normal member of our party, is scruffing up the brown and blonde hair blushing BB- declaring her undying love for 'life'.

Honestly, aside from the faint buzz in my head and the faint smile on my face, I don't think I'm that drunk. I'm not a big guy, so I can't hold as much liquor as people think I can- but I don't go hyper like everyone else seems to.

This probably wasn't the best idea, getting wasted right before a Games reaping. I find it hard to believe anyone in the Districts gets drunk before going into a reaping. Every year I watch them stumble up those stairs- though, not all of them stumble- with pained looks on their faces and their fists clenched into... fists...

Christ... I hate watching that. Every year, it's always like that- and it never gets any better. Sometimes they cry. _Ah _I hate it when they cry. It makes my chest hurt, and it makes me want to cry. I mean, those kids... some of them are just _kids_; twelve, thirteen and fourteen year olds- going up there and _dying_.

I hate that. Knowing that they're going to die- the second they put their foot on that stage. What I hate ever more is when _no one _volunteers to save them. Gutless, worthless... I hate them. I hate those cowards... if I had the chance I'd choke them- hurt them- strangle them- kill-

"F-Ferroh-"

My ears feel like they're full of cotton wool. Slowly, I turn- my eyes narrowed as the sparkling blue eyes of Ashen stare at me blankly.

"What?" I answer, sharper than I usually would. "What is it?"

"-you're a great guy- you know that?" Ashen hiccoughs, and then gives me a goofy smile. "Th-Thanks for being friends with us crazies."

Her words take a moment to register in my brain. Slowly my hardened expression fades away into a relaxed smile, as Ashen slumps against my arm and continues to hiccough to herself.

"You're welcome Ash'," I put a hand on her head, ruffling up her hair. It's wiry, and not at all soft. "Never change."

"Ok-kay..." Ashen replies, bubbly as ever. She lifts her hand and points across the room. "Who painted that gah-garbage though?"

Confused, I follow her gaze. Then I frown as I recognise the painting she's pointing to. Ashen looks at me, beaming with pride- as if she already knows the answer.

"I did."

BB and Quinn burst into laughter. Ashen rolls around like a child on the couch in her fit of hysterical laughter as my cheeks grow hot with rage and embarrassment.

"...you _suck _Ferroh!"

"Sh-Shut up you drunk!"

**

* * *

**

My head still feels fuzzy as the four of us walk to the reapings. BB and Quinn seemed to have sobered up- probably thanks to the two of them throwing up before we left- but now the three of us are left to shakily try and support the still giggling Ashen.

"This was a bad idea," I mutter through gritted teeth as Ashen's manicured nails dig through my shirt and into my arm. "Who's going to stand with her in the eighteens' section?"

"I don't know..." BB groans wearily. Ashen is pulling his hair. "Quinn... Quinn you do it..."

"Ohh..." Out of all of us, Quinn looks the worst for wear. Throwing up is not your friend when you're as thin as a twig already. "Y-Yeah... oh-okay..."

Thank god that Ashen is barely able to talk at this point, and that I'm barely able to hear anything. Something inside me is churning, but it's too far up to be my stomach. I decide the best thing is to ignore it, as if I worry about anything now I'll probably do something stupid.

BB and I part ways at the roll taker, as BB is eighteen and I'm still seventeen. Quinn is seventeen too, but now that she's the adoptive caretaker of Ashen- I'll be the only one of us standing in the seventeen section. Stiffly, I make my way into the seventeen's male section- choosing to stand, arms crossed, in a manner so unlike me it would usually make others smile.  
I'm usually a chipper sort of guy. However everyone is so panicked about today, my presence only seems to deepen the sense of dread that fills the air.

Shame too, because it's such a nice day out today...

The mayor who steps up to read the Treaty of Treason is from the standard mayor mould. Rigid, straight to the point- and obviously uncaring enough to actually believe that reading the Treaty matters.  
Load of crap. It's just a blank cheque for us to treat the Districts like dirt, when all we needed was a little bit of control over them. Look how it turned out?

I hate the Treaty, but it's not as bad as the rest of the reapings usually are. It's not like when the Treaty is read- you can see those trembling children watching their lives disintegrate into ash. That's what I hate the most... poor kids... no life... no one to take their place... cowardly... I hate cowardly...

"-_Hello _Sector 7!" Abruptly, I crash back into the present as a curly blonde haired woman takes the stand. "I'm your escort Peach, and it's time for us to pull the name of our female tribute! Everyone, fingers crossed~!"

Thoughtless woman. Probably wouldn't even care if she called up a twelve year old to the slaughter... hate her too...

I don't have the energy to watch her pull that slip from the glass bowl. A name I don't recognise is read, and I keep my eyes fixated on the cement ground below to stop myself from facing what is probably the cold reality; some poor twelve year old girl who's going to die.

-But the airheaded Peach calls the name out again. 'Galaxy Jones' she's calling out, ever chipper and bright as she repeats it over and over again. The crowd of guys around me begin to murmur- perhaps they recognise the name- and I finally give in to looking as I hear a girl screaming in the aisle.

"-No! Please, no! I don't want to! I don't want to-!"

It's odd... but even though she's just as pathetic as any small child... seeing that she is around my age lessens the grinding feeling in my head... this girl has had a fuller life than others... I can live with her dying...

"-l-let's have a big hand for our female tribute-"

"You can't make me do this-!"

Ignoring the cries of the ever vocal 'Galaxy Jones', Peach traipses over to the boy's reaping ball. I can feel relief in my heart that Ashen and Quinn are safe, but I can hear the sound of footsteps running... and the world begins to slow down... as I turn and feel my eyes widen.

-It's a boy; a young one, running for his sister no doubt. He draws closer with each stumbling leap- his eyes filled with tears and his mouth opening to volunteer. The churning in my stomach lurches as I see it flash in my brain- his life in ashes, he and his sister dead, life lost- no one volunteering- cowards- kill them- strangle them-

The crowd around me slowly begins to turn as I feel the central workings of my brain shut off as time suddenly snaps back into harsh reality-

-And without warning- my arm shoots out- and I grab the kid by his jaw. I tug him backwards forcefully- feeling his body go rigid as I let go and hear him collapse to the aisle below. Stepping into the open- a strange sense of certainty fills me as I stare forcefully up at the stage.

"I volunteer."

Something is burning through my veins. I don't know what it is, but even though it's painful... I can't help but want it to continue... I want to smile, but my teeth are gritted together like they're locked.

-this doesn't feel like me.

**

* * *

**

Everything is wearing off, slowly and painfully. Ashen's tears fall onto my legs, her arms gripping the bottom of my shirt as she howls in what sounds like pain. Quinn is stammering something- something I can't hear. All while BB sits, silent as the grave as I stare straight ahead, blank.

My parents have said goodbye. What's worse, I can't remember what was said. It's gone so quickly, so plainly- it's like a hazy sort of dream. Is this happening? Did I do what I think I did-?

"_I volunteer._"

That was my voice. My voice threw my life into the games. But it wasn't me. I wouldn't volunteer for the Games. I know myself better than that, and I know that I would never throw my life away like that.  
It was like someone inside me grabbed me from within and took control... but it can't be like that... somehow... I chose to volunteer...

"What did your parents say?"

BB's voice cuts through to me, and finally I turn to look one of my friends in the eye. BB's yellow eyes stare at me- filled with an empty kind of sadness. Without really thinking, I bite down on the inside of my mouth.

"...I can't remember..."

"...you can't... remember anything...?" BB narrows his eyes, placing a hand on the top of Ashen's head- who is slowly ceasing her cries. "...nothing at all...?"

Why is he asking me when I say I can't remember? Doesn't he believe me? Or is it something... else...?

My eyebrows twitch, narrowing as I lock eyes with the boy who has been my friend for almost my entire life. Both the cries of Quinn and Ashen have ceased, and all that is left is the silence that remains.

"...I remember tears..." My voice is hushed. Like a flat whisper. "-And a handshake... maybe... Mom was crying... not much else..."

Why are you staring at me like that BB? Ashen, Quinn... why are you looking at me so frightened? Aren't you sad for me?

"Ferroh..." Quinn chokes, her brown eyes welling up. "You... you weren't yourself...?"

"What?"

"-I'm afraid time's up."

The Peacekeeper has returned, and he holds open the tent door for my friends to leave. Silence grips the tent for the last time as all three of them turn to me simultaneously- identical expressions of guilt and remorse on their faces.

"...we'll..." BB's voice trails into nothing. I feel a rush of sadness overwhelm me as his eyes fall to his feet. "...we'll see you soon Ferroh..."

Quinn doesn't say anything. Letting out a sob, she throws her hands over her eyes and flees the tent before BB, who sluggishly disappears after her. I watch as the Peacekeeper stares at Ashen- who continues to kneel before me- her hands balled into fists on my legs.

"...Ash..." I mutter. "It's time to go..."

Suddenly- Ashen throws her arms around my shoulders- just as she had early this morning. Burying her face in my shoulder, I feel my body relax in my misery as her body beats against mine.  
Then- in a voice so quiet I almost miss it- her voice disappears into the folds of my shirt-

"_Don't lose yourself Ferroh_."

Her arms pull away- and I move to pull her back- but she escapes from reach too quickly. The tent flap flutters shut behind her, and an odd buzzing is left in my skin where her mouth muttered those confusing words.

...Why... why is this happening...?

Something inside me churns, but it's not my stomach. My hands ball into fists at my sides as I stare at the ground where she had knelt- wailing and crying as I sat there, unable to process what had happened only minutes before.  
Where she had sat, now lays a small umbrella. Pink, yellow and purple... it rolls about until my fingers pick it up, raising it to my face.

I know it's ridiculous... I know it's impossible... but I swear...

...I swear what's churning inside me... inside my ribcage... inside my chest...

...my heart is cracking... cracking under the pressure.

_What did they mean?_

_

* * *

_**Feedback helps me a lot more than you know! Take a few seconds to help an Aussie out, won't you? ;D**_  
_


	16. S8, Wild Daughter

**A Vivid Note: **okay, I totally didn't stick with my 'finish by the end of August' plan. Family dinners and my final Drama performance _sort of _got in the way. Sorry guys!  
Yes, yes- I've finished Mockingjay. I have two copies- paperback and hardback. I have to say, I was disappointed. I thought it'd be better, honestly. It was rushed, and it skipped a bit in places. Still, I love the hardback edition to pieces- and I wouldn't be able to cherish it if it weren't for my boyfriend cracking under pressure at the store after my frequent pining and cries of 'but I _want _it!'

**If you haven't voted in the poll on my profile, please do so now**. I'll be changing it to something else the next time I update. Mwah.

-so this tribute was created by ever lovely _Abby Hale is Team Salvatore, _and she was _very_ fun to write because the details given for her were amazing, and it is- at least in my opinion- impossible not to like her. I hope I was able to capture that part of her essence.

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Koriana Rebexa Wilder; 15 years old; the Capitol Sector 8._

"Koriana, _please _tell me you're dressed."

Oh darn... it seems I'm about to be rumbled.

Working quickly, I stash the sketch paper I was using under the thin crack of my bed- barely retracting my hand as my bedroom door opens and my Mother's face frowns in frustration.

"-you're not even out of your pajamas yet?" I wince a little from the harsh tone of her voice, but my feeble smile doesn't disappear. It rarely does. "Koriana, the reaping is in an hour, please do hurry up."

Without expecting an answer, my Mother pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose and gives me a final annoyed expression before shutting my door again with a short, sharp jolt. As her footsteps die away, my smile vanishes, I wrinkle my nose and poke my tongue out in distaste- but not before a stern cry echoes back-

"-and it better be _presentable_."

Presentable? Is that what she cares about? Her only child that is eligible is up for the world's most sickening, inhumane game to touch the earth- and she wants me to look _presentable_.

My Mother.

Ugh...

It's hard to believe that _she's_ my Mother, of all people. The Capitol has a populace bordering on millions- about ninety percent of which having crazy coloured hair and naturally weird personalities- and I'm conceived by two of the most 'by the book' individuals the world has ever seen.

-what were the odds of that, really? It's almost as if destiny were trying to punish me in the cruelest way possible by destroying my home life from the foundation up. Sometimes even I'm surprised I can act so outlandish with parents like her.

I open up the doors to my closet, scratching at my scruffy mass of white hair as I try to begin even _contemplating_ what I might wear to a reaping. The entirety of my wardrobe is pretty... eccentric- so I already know my Mother is going to be _sorely _disappointed by my lack of 'presentation'. Not that I truly care about her thoughts anyway- since I'm almost tempted to wear my dress made up of shredded patchwork squares just to spite her.

Probably won't though, it's pretty bright out there and I don't feel like sunscreen.

I take a moment to glance in the mirror, just to get an idea on what I should be working with. I know for a fact I shouldn't wear white, seeing as my skin is already paper white- as well as my hair- and as shocking as an ensemble that'd be- I'm not feeling the ghost vibe.

-Something inside doesn't want to wear blacks today either. Okay, yes- my bangs are black, and the swirling tattoos- and so are my eyes come to think of it- but no. Not today... not when there's black and depression everywhere in these games... no, not today... something... colourful... something...

Making loud popping sounds with my lips, I begin to shift through the many drawers filled with clothes as I search for something colourful, 'un-presentable'- and bright enough to make me feel better. I can feel almost a million textures under my fingertips, and I recognise glimpses of clothes that bring back a medley of memories- but all I can think about is that stern monotonous voice of hers.

"_Koriana, please tell me you're dressed._"

I really do wish she'd stop calling me 'Koriana', especially in those berating tones she always likes to use around me. You're not proud of me Mom, I _get it_. I got it years ago. Everyone in our family did. You couldn't have been any clearer.

Marabeth constantly tries to assure me that Mom loves me regardless of my 'personal style'- which is a nice way of saying 'who I am'- but I'm not stupid. Anyone can tell, and that includes Marabeth, that my _Mother_- or Mrs. Wilder as she's otherwise known as on her campus, feels nothing but distaste for the daughter that's become of me.

-and I'm glad. I'd really hate having to put up with such a boring, plaid-skirted person liking me anyway... I just really, _really_ wish she wasn't my Mother.

Where did all of my awesome clothes go? The more I flick through the layers, the more agitated I can feel myself becoming. Maybe all the clothes I have bought for the past few years have just been black and white-?

"-Kori' darling, I'm coming in~"

I don't really need to turn around to know that it's my ever-happy sister Marabeth flouncing into my room, with her black and green hair bouncing and her smile growing wider- but I do anyway just to shoot her a pout that properly expresses my current frustration as well as masks the internal conflict over how much I hate what's about to come.

"Can't find anything?" Marabeth says, perking up an eyebrow. "That's not like you Kori' darling."

She's been calling me 'Kori' darling' since I was about four years old. She heard it on television and thought it'd make her sound more mature. In reality, it's the only thing remotely mature about her- and that's not saying much.

"I just... don't know what I'm supposed to wear," I sigh, resting my head on the open drawer. "It's a _reaping_, for Pete's sake... so what, party dress or some sort of funeral deal?"

"-I think they're leaning towards 'party dress'," Marabeth giggles, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "Oh but you'd look absolutely _stunning_ being the only girl dressed up in mourning wear!"

"Oh shut up," The smile breaks across my face before I can stop it. She has this power over me. "Are you going to help me- sister _darling_?"

"Hey, don't you get fresh with me girl!"

The slight depression the upcoming reaping had laid across me was immediately evaporated by the shining ray that is Marabeth and her ridiculous ability to make any situation tolerable. It's not long before we're flinging clothes all over my room- laughing about my apparently terrible taste in style.

"You should wear green like me," Marabeth says, once my floor is coated in my entire wardrobe. "We could be like a pair!"

"We don't look _at all _alike though!" I snort, fishing about my floor for something I might have overlooked. "Besides, I don't think green suits me half as well as it suits you..."

"Damon was saying _just _the same thing earlier," my sister suddenly looks very thoughtful. "-going on about favourite colours reflecting the soul and what not."

I can't help but smile at this. That certainly sounds like our little brother. Damon is only eleven years old, and he's already accomplished more than the lot of our family put together. He's got a knack for designing clothes- and, thankfully, just like Marabeth and I- he's rejected the conformist view our parents have on life.

"What did he say about your liking of the colour green?" I ask, brushing a bit of my side bang out of my eye as I scour the floor.

"-he said it represents my happy go lucky nature, but also how I have a bit of an edge and a cool intelligence." Marabeth puts her hands on her hips and strikes a ridiculously hilarious pose. "I told him he missed out _devilishly sexy_- but he laughed at me."

"I don't blame him!" I giggle profusely, smiling as my sister pouts sourly back at me. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding~"

As Marabeth and I collapse into laughter, I can't help but think that it's because of her that I've managed to escape becoming like Mom. Marabeth is a party girl, and she has this natural spin in her walk that sends her crashing down hallways with wild ideas and exciting news.  
The only difference between us is when you delve deeper into our personalities. As much as I hate to admit it, Marabeth is much easier going than I am- and I have a pretty bad temper sometimes. She's also a lot more forgiving of our parents, where I'm happy with disliking them without reasoning too much.

-but we share the same likes and dislikes, for the most part.

"-Kori', are you really not dressed yet?"

My little brother Damon smiles in a knowing sort of way as Marabeth rushes over and hugs him tightly around his head. I give him a rueful smile as I motion to the dresses on the floor.

"Help, please?" I ask, faking weakness. "You know this stuff even better than I do."

"-well, I'm guessing, since you're my sister Kori'- you want something bold and striking..." That's Damon. Jumping right into action. "So I'm going to say you go with something a block red."

So simple, so blunt- yet right on the money. Marabeth claps her hands together- and in seconds the two of them are holding up a strapless dress to my figure and tilting their heads this way and that in a mocking sort of way.

"This is so what you should wear," Marabeth grins- pressing the dress into my hands as I smile back. "It shows off those puppies of yours!"

"Puppies?" I glance at my chest and grin at her. "Sister, you flatter me too much!"

"Oh stop flirting you two," Damon smirks- shaking his head. "Get changed Kori', we have like half an hour before we have to go."

"You're just jealous because I have puppies."

"I'm a boy! What would _I _do with puppies?"

Marabeth and I exchange grins as Damon begins to throw a mild tantrum over how silly we're all being. Quickly as I can, I duck inside my bathroom and quickly begin to strip down to try on the striking red dress I had previously overlooked.  
It's funny, how much my brother and sister help me in life. Even though it's only a small thing- helping me find out what to wear- it stands for a lot with me.

Because I know that they both feel bad about today. They want to stand together with me, so I don't feel alone in this reaping- but neither of them is eligible- and I can tell that they're worried out of their minds that if the worst happens today- they can do nothing to stop it.

I want to tell them not to worry. The odds aren't pointed towards me being chosen in the slightest, and that I can guarantee that tomorrow we'll all be here in this house- rioting around like the siblings we've always been.

-But, as chipper, wild and care-free as I usually am... I know I can't do that.

So I pull on the red dress, my best game smile- and hope that I can hide these worries as well as everything else I'm masking with a smile today.

"Let's hurry it up Kori' darling!"

"I'm coming!"

**

* * *

**

Our parents are silent with fury and frustration by the time we leave. The three of us children sort of got carried away with our dressing up game- and Marabeth ended up getting changed a total of eleven times before we left the house half an hour later than planned.

Better still, my Mother's expression of faint horror of being seen in public with her rambunctious daughters has never been sweeter to my eyes. That and seeing the other stunned looks from other parents and less-Capitolian citizens adds to my joy.

"Promise you'll behave," I hear my Father mutter to Marabeth, who is waving to the odd friend and party-goer here and there. "Promise me."

"No," Marabeth answers happily, not even looking at him. "Suffer."

I definitely believe I got my sense of style and attitude from Marabeth. If only I had the same level of sass to keep it going like she does. I can see Damon sigh with a smile in the corner of my eye; thankful to not be the one causing our parents strife.

"-Koriana, you'll meet us back here once this nonsense is over, understand?"

Really Mother? _Nonsense_? If I didn't know the situation any better, I'd think we were heading to something like a concert or a festival- not a reaping where two children are being called up to their graves. For a change my disgust shows on my face and I see a tiny flicker of shame reveal itself on her face.

"...do you understand?" She asks again, this time more quietly.

"Yeah," What else can I say? "I understand. Bye."

My Mother and Father aren't very affectionate or 'huggy' people, so instead I receive a tight hug from Marabeth and a good luck kiss on the cheek from Damon before I slip into the anonymity of the crowd. Under the warm midday sun and amongst all the heavily breathing ranks of eligible children- I feel more than a little suffocated.  
This sensation- coupled with the anxiety from earlier- I begin chanting in my head just to keep myself from breaking down.

I just need to keep calm. Remember, the odds of me being picked are minuscule. Miniscule. Look how many people are here... it's going to be one of them... not me... not me... not you... Kori...

It's not really working. If anything it's just making me feel worse that I want someone else to die just so I don't have to. Is that selfish or understandable? Ugh I'm talking to myself...

At times like this, I wish I wasn't so petite. I'm almost half a foot shorter than most of the girls around me, and the only way I can see the stage is if I perch up on my tip toes- and even then all I can see is the top of the mayor's head and the teal spikes of what seems to be the female escort. It's rather stuffy here in the crowd, so I distract myself by eyeing the banners flying in the wind- tethered to various light posts.

'_Fight on Sector 8_' they say, and other stupid variations of that. Whoever designed them was lacking in the imagination department- because they're all the same reddish-pink color- which looks weird against the blue of the sky. Several of them have the silhouette of a genderless person raising a sword to the heavens- which makes me frown.

I've never liked the Hunger Games. I don't think anyone in our house does, though probably for different reasons. Yeah, I'm a huge believer in destiny- but no part of destiny, especially not 'life and death' destiny, should be determined by pulling child's name from a bowl.  
Ignorant as it is to admit, I sort of hoped, after hearing what this Quell was going to be, that the Capitol would finally end these games for good to spare its citizens. I guess that was childish of me. Especially when I got so angry I went and smashed an old piggy bank just so I could release the anger on something.

All around me I can hear the low voices of girls whispering to one another, trying to be friends even in a dire time like this. A pang of jealousy seeps through me knowing that my only support is in the form of Marabeth and Damon- and they're far out of reach at this moment.

"-Sector 8, we will forgo the treaty of treason today-"

-Ah! I jump a little from surprise as a chill runs down my spine while the mayor, a man with a long thin face and a smooth dark voice, speaks gruffly into the microphone. The crowd of girls surrounding me silences in a mix of fear and suspense as the man waves over the spiky haired woman, who teeters slightly on her heels as she takes the podium.

She announces herself as 'Quiche', which pulls a few dying chuckles from the crowd- which she spectacularly manages to ignore. Even I feel a tiny smile tug at the sides of my mouth before Quiche dives into an impromptu speech of the honour it would bring to our Sector should one of our tributes win, at which point I suddenly feel put off again.

"So to our tributes today," Quiche closes her eyes and brings her hands close to her chest. "Please do your best for us back home, okay? Promi_se_?"

Quiche tilts her head as she finishes, almost as a small child would. Though I feel like I couldn't possibly feel more disgusted in this moment- I can't help but sigh because of how obnoxious this poor woman is being without realising.  
Does she have a family like I do? Were her parents upset that she became a bubbly, brightly coloured escort instead of a doctor or an academic? Does 'Quiche' have siblings and friends and issues of her own?

"Girl's first then, isn't it?"

I don't know about her, but I know about me- and most of the girls in this crowd with me. None of us deserve to have this sharp nailed woman pull our names out of that ball and sentence us to death. She knows that, doesn't she?

Whether or not it's on purpose, Quiche's footsteps are long and timely as she wobbles over to the reaping ball and pulls out the unlucky slip. The crowd draws in one collective breath as she reaches the microphone and calls out-

"Diego... sorry, there's no last name. Do we have a Miss Diego?"

...

...I don't believe it.

Several people in the crowd begin to snicker and give each other simpering looks as a red blush fills Quiche's face as she realises her mistake.

She mixed up the balls. She just pulled the male tribute's name instead.

"I-I mean Mr. Diego!" the woman cries desperately, crumpling up the slip and letting it fall to the stage. "Diego- up here! Up here!"

Her voice is strangled with how embarrassed she's become. Despite the fact a boy has been called to die in the games- all she can focus on his her own blunder- and apparently that's all the crowd can acknowledge too. Several people are still smiling and chortling as the boy- this _towering _tree of a boy- steadily walks up to the stage, declining Quiche's quivering handshake to stare out blankly across the crowd.

"A-Any volunteers?" Her voice is shrill, but she's getting back into her groove. "Any volunteers for Mr. Diego?"

No. All amusement disappears from me as I stare up at the guy. There won't be any volunteers for this guy. He's too big- and no one is going to take pity on him. From the looks of him, he almost looks like he could be a career based on sheer size alone.  
I know not to judge by appearances- but I am a good judge of character. And the way his eyes are so cold and grey... and the lines that crease his forehead... he's signed himself over already.

Goodbye Mr. Diego.

"-and congratulations Mr. Diego, you're Sector 8's lucky first tribute!"

No response; except for a tiny flicker of his eye- although that probably doesn't count.

"_Now _we'll choose our lucky girl..."

Okay Kori- don't panic. Remember the odds; you're going to do fine. They're going to call up someone you don't know, someone other than you, someone who doesn't matter-

-that last thought makes my stomach lurch from guilt. Someone who doesn't matter...? There's no such thing as that... is there? Everyone matters to some level... I should know that more than anyone...

A girl beside me lets out a whimper as her friend encircles her arms around her. I bite down hard on my lip, wrenching my eyes shut and apologising to the world for the mistake I had just made in my mind. Throughout the street the sounds of Quiche's high heels echoes all around as they stop in front of the podium.

There's another collective breath from the crowd, and another whimper from the neighbouring girl. I inhale deeply, clenching my fists tightly as I open my eyes just in time to see Quiche unfold the name. With mere seconds to spare- I reassure myself one last time-

_Whatever happens will happen_.

"Koriana Wilder!"

"Ah-!"

There's a cry somewhere, and suddenly I feel very dizzy. The world spins and the sky looms over me as I find myself hanging onto the whimpering girl beside me for support. Everyone in the suffocating crowd turns and stares as I stare up in disbelief.

"...that's... that's..." I babble in my daze, breathless to the onlookers. "I'm..."

No one says anything, except Quiche who blithely calls out my name again. I'm blindly aware of the girl trembling beneath my touch as I straighten up and try to stumble into the open aisle- my mind struggling to breathe and understand what's going on.

_Koriana Wilder_.

That's me, isn't it? That's the name I hate so much. The name that was so formal and strung out- that whenever I heard it I knew I was in trouble.

_Koriana Wilder_.

Report to the deputy's office.

_Koriana Wilder_.

Guilty of failing to behave appropriately in assembly.

_Koriana Wilder_.

Caught neglecting her after school duties.

_KORIANA WILDER._

A disappointment, a _failure to her Parents_.

"Koriana Wilder?"

Quiche stares at me, that ignorant blissful expression plastered across her made-up face. I stare back, hands clenching and unclenching as my mouth speaks without my realising.

"No," I can't feel my mouth. Quiche looks at me curiously. "It's Kori Wilder. Kori Rebexa Wilder. Never Koriana."

The woman's face shows nothing but confusion, but she calls out the change to my name and asks for volunteers. I slowly turn, feeling an odd sensation of nothing on my face as I feel every eye in the Capitol Sector 8 trained on mine. I can see myself on the television screens overlooking us on all sides- the blood red dress standing out like a candle against the blue sky.

"Congratulations Kori Wilder, our Sector 8 female tribute!"

Whatever happens... happens... right... Kori...?

**

* * *

**

Things seem all wrong. Usually it's Marabeth who cries, and Damon who sits and stares blankly ahead when things are bad. However in this moment- Damon is sobbing into my chest as Marabeth sits beside me and stares at her feet.

"...this... this isn't really happening... is it?" Marabeth's voice is barely above a whisper. "...I mean... this sort of thing... it never happens..."

Yes it does. I stare glumly at my little brother howling into the red of my dress, gripping onto me for dear life as snot and tears flood down his face. This happens every year, for the past one hundred and twenty-five years.

It's just never happened to us.

Diego and I were hurried away to the nearest hall that could accommodate the farewells- and no sooner had I sat down did Marabeth and Damon burst in after me. I didn't care to ask about our parents, because I know that there'll be along sooner or later. Although a good part of me doesn't want to see them at all.

"...Kori... you can't die..." Marabeth says shakily. "You just... you can't... you can't..."

-But I can. As strange as it feels, for the first time in my life- I'm fully aware that death is at hand. I could be dead within a few weeks. Possibly sooner. It doesn't feel real, and I don't know what I should be feeling- but it isn't fear.

"I know I shouldn't..." Words are hard to find, but I manage. "...but I promise... I promise I'll do everything I can to get back..."

What a stupid promise Kori. Of course you will. Though somehow my words reach their goal, because Marabeth smiles weakly and Damon stops wailing and is instead reduced to snivelling instead.

"...I know... i-it's dumb to say this..." Damon can't meet my eyes; he instead keeps them focused on his hands. "Don't... don't forget us... don't forget us in there..."

"I won't," Somehow it comes out as a wispy sort of laugh. "I could never do that... I won't... I swear."

I'm distracted by Marabeth fiddling with her necklace. She unclasps it and hands it to me- pushing it into my hands before I can even ask her what she's doing.

"Token." She mutters, with a nod that doesn't seem to mean anything. "I... I want you to have it..."

I hold it gingerly in my hands, the thin, delicate chain still warm from her body heat.

"Thanks."

Before I can think of putting it on- Damon weakly pulls it away from me and tampers with it for a moment before handing it back. As I hold it again- I see that my little brother has fastened a charm to it; a tiny blue coloured pencil charm with a rounded end.

Slowly, I feel the tears fill my eyes as Damon forces the most heartbreaking smile up at me, his own tears breaking through those eyes that had always been so reassuring. A choked sob breaks through my defences as I latch onto him, hugging him close as the charm digs into my palm.

"I love you." I whisper, burying my face in his hair. "I love both of you so much... I love you..."

There is no need for words between us, the Wilder siblings. However when my siblings are called away from me and their hands leave mine for what is most likely the last time ever, I hold the charm tightly in my hand and hope that I used the time wisely.

So this is goodbye. This is what happens to a tribute. They say goodbye to what they love and disappear into a world where nothing but hatred and fear awaits them.  
As I sit and wait for my parents to come and say our coarse goodbye, I feel a little thankful that even though I'm going to an arena where I am going to die... at least I will have no regrets left behind me.

...

...Only the time steadily ticks by... slowly and painfully... and by the time Quiche comes back... and Diego and I are pulled from our tents... I've realised the truth.

My parents... never came to say goodbye.

_Whatever happens will happen._

Enjoy your meaningless tautology, Kori Wilder.

* * *

**Review if you would be so kind. :) Your number of seconds spent on feedback mean the world to me.**


	17. S8, Righteous Enigma

**A Vivid Note: **thank you all for being so supportive despite my lazy nature. I'm very glad that my writing makes you happy, because knowing it does makes _me _happy. Isn't that a lovely cycle? Haha.

Ah, and I decided to keep the poll up on my profile a little longer. **Remember to take it if you haven't already!** I enjoy hearing what my friends think.

This tribute was the second written up by _aidenelizabeth_, and he's a doozy. I suppose he's the most mysterious of the lot, which is a good trait to have. I wonder if you all will like him. He was very difficult to write, so apologies if this one is a bit... wordy and hard to follow. His mind is difficult.

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Diego "D"; 18 years; the Capitol Sector 8._

_Panem is beyond repair Diego. You and I can do nothing for it. Nothing you can do will fix it. Nothing I can do will fix it. The two of us are meant to live and die. That's it Diego._

The only relative I have, and even she has no faith in my only goal in life.

It's no surprise that when I finally wake up Romania has already long gone. There's no note or sign left behind to indicate when she'll be back- but I'd be more surprised if there was. My Aunt has never been one to let me in on anything- despite how she constantly assures me that I can 'trust her'.

The mere fact she that she actually says that makes me trust her even less than I would've otherwise- but I suppose that's just how life is. You're born in a Capitol orphanage- then when you're finally coherent enough to feel bitter about the whole situation- your 'Aunt' comes along and tells you that she's your Mother's sister and is going to take care of you since everyone else is long dead.

...then you wake up every morning like this. Alone in a house with no note, no indication on when she'll come home again- and suddenly you feel like the orphanage was more cosy.

I suppose I should be thankful...

I'm used to doing everything alone. I wake up alone, I get dressed alone, and I eat alone. It sounds sort of empty when I say it like that, but it isn't as bad as it sounds. I've done it since I was just a kid. It also means that over the course of my life- I've managed to get a _lot _done in the way of thinking.  
Romania constantly berates me about my untalkative nature, but I think deep down she prefers it this way. It means I don't ask her where she's going or what she's doing.

-Don't really need to anyway. Whatever it is, I have a strong hunch it's illegal.

The last time we really talked about anything was a year or two ago. I can't remember too well, as somehow Romania succeeded in warping the memory, but I had run into someone... and she had gotten furious with me. All I remember from the encounter is a tall figure and a pair of silver grey eyes- narrowed at me.

...though... perhaps it was just a dream.

I take my time to eat breakfast, even though it's just a small, depressing bowl of cereal. The idea of the reaping has sapped away all of my energy- so I can't be bothered to cook anything more substantial. Instead I just sit at the empty wooden dining table, with nothing but the clinking of my own spoon against the porcelain to keep me company.

I'm used to it, being alone.

Romania has left the television quietly going in the front room, probably to fool any passersby that there's actually life in this house. She constantly forgets that I live here, so technically there _is _life here- but I don't blame her for forgetting. It's not like I make any real noise or hold any real presence. She's constantly saying how I'm not a real Capitol kid, as 'real' Capitol kids are party animals and are constantly dying themselves flamboyant colours.

This only shows how much she knows. It's not at all like I'm one to shy away from alterations after all.

-I used to dye my skin, but it naturally turned the sick shade of white I dyed it since I'm always indoors- so I don't bother anymore. The rest of me I never touched, so my hair is always messy and unkempt- and I remember it being brown at some point, but now it's jet black even in sunlight.  
My arms are painted with a myriad of complicated tattoos- which I usually keep covered up by long sleeves. They were the only real alterations I ever had done, because I'm not one to be painted green, surgically alter my bones or embed myself with wings, scales or flippers.

-yet somehow I don't count as a 'real Capitol kid'- at least, not to my Aunt.

...and deep down, I too feel like I don't belong here.

All too quickly I finish my cereal, so I leave the bowl and its dregs upon the empty sink before retiring to the lounge room. Slumping into the lounge, I decide to spend what little is left of my morning watching television.  
I rarely do watch television, unless there's emergency broadcasts. I'm not really the type of guy to watch soaps or comedies... perhaps if I was I'd be more interesting.

-And a whole lot stupider.

On the CapitolNet channel- the screen is laden with footage of riots, crying parents and discerning Hunger Games authorities. I turn up the television a few notches before I can actually hear what the channel anchor is trying to report on.

"-_Districts 1 and 2 have maintained a proper level of authority, but due to extensive riots and unseemly behaviour in Districts 3, 5, 7 and 12- the Capitol will suffer further in this time of need with further rationing-_"

This cues a nice shot of a young guy- probably a year or two younger than I- grinning like a maniac at the camera before flipping his middle fingers towards the audience.

Haha, that's right kid. A smile plays across my face. So you should be allowed to revel in this. You were probably terrified this Quell would steal you away...

"_-Due to the widespread chaos caused by the Districts, only one mentor will be chosen to aid the Capitol Sector children in the lead up to the Quell-_"

I ponder what this sentence means, and it takes a few minutes to realise that most of the past winners are probably beside themselves with joy that their own Districts aren't bearing the brunt of this Quell, and that the Capitol is having a taste of its own medicine. It was probably very difficult to round up the twelve mentors necessary.

-It also brings to question... were any of the victors killed for not complying?

All too soon, a list scrolls up the screen as the woman reads aloud the names of the mentors chosen from each District. I take my time to lean in a little further- paying close attention to the names of each mentor. I repeat the names in my mind and what little I know of them-

"_Sector One will be mentored by Antony_-"

I remember him, he won two years ago. Typical career, slaughtering his friends once the end rolled around... cruel smile to boot.

"_Two by Mars_-"

Vaguely remember his games. Cold and silent, a lot like me.

"_Three by Ava_-"

She won almost thirty years ago. District 3 never seems to win. I have a nasty feeling that this year probably won't be any different.

"_Five by Vernon_-"

Vernon? The guy is bordering on sixty years old, and Alzheimer's if you believe the papers. I feel a touch of sadness for the poor tributes stuck with Sector 5.

"_Eight by Corbin_-"

I don't remember him. That's funny, since Romania's home falls inside Sector 8.

"_Ten by Dalton_-"

He won about five years ago. I remember because I've always like District 10; something about rangers and cowboys. I suppose I am a bit typical, in that sense.

"_And Twelve by Nikolai_-"

Don't remember him either. Judging from the picture of him- he seems to be of Russian descent. However the deep bags under his eyes and twelve o'clock shadow doesn't help his cause at all.

"-_Let's hope that with their guidance, our tributes will stand a chance in whatever the Quell's arena has to offer them_-"

Perhaps if I was a colder person, I'd laugh. The television's words make it sound like a buffet, or something equally ridiculous and light hearted. No one ever seems to talk about the Games for what they are. It's always just a parade, a trial- or a fight where no one watching acknowledges that people are guaranteed to die.

-Another reason I'm not a real Capitol kid. I _do _acknowledge the kids dying every year. I try my hardest not to, and I still end up thinking on them more than anything else.

Yeah, I know there are others like me who care, but not to the same degree I do. There's an affinity I share with those kids, and it's not something I can really explain to anyone- not even myself.  
I don't have a Mother or a Father. I have no friends, and no one who even bothers to try and understand me. When I go outside, however rare that is, everyone shies away- not wanting to talk to the lumbering giant with the scowl embedded on his lips.

I have no one.

Just as the tributes in these games... have no one.

It sounds selfish, that the only reason I identify with them is because of my own problems, but it also makes me feel a little calmer inside... knowing I'm not the only one alone in a world that won't acknowledge my life. No one else really understands what I go through, and no one tries- not that I can blame them.

Maybe one day, if I ever reach my goal of becoming a person of high authority in Panem, I'll be able to speak to our fractured country of these feelings of mine. Somehow I'll make them understand the pain each tribute feels- and how there must be so many others like me across Panem, missing parents and loved ones because of our Government and its choices.

"_-From everyone here at CapitolNet, we wish the Capitol tributes called up today good luck in the fifth Quarter Quell-_"

The image and the empty words shrink away into nothing as I push the power switch off with a dull sigh. I sink further into the old moth-eaten lounge, my eyes rising up to the ceiling as my thoughts swill about in an incoherent spiral.

...good luck indeed...

**

* * *

**

Walking from the outskirts of Sector 8 to the place designated to hold the reaping takes time. The sun hurts my eyes and I'm forced to squint the entire way- which causes a few funny looks from the younger children before their parents quickly make them look away.

I hate being so tall at times. People have always been scared of people larger than them, always assuming that if a person is so tall that you have to crane your neck to meet their eyes- they must be looking down at you scornfully.

-it's almost the exact opposite. I've always been tall, and everyone looks up at me with what seems to be hatred and disgust. Though, that may just be because I'm the boy who lives in the forgotten, rusty home on the outskirts of the Capitol.

Aunt Romania always told me that the people in town hated her, for reasons she didn't care to explain. I never asked, because I figured she would tell me if it was important. However, whether I know or not didn't matter, because everyone else in town stares at me with the same scorn as they do her.

"Momma, I don't wanna die in the games, I don't wanna-!"

Only the kids are smart enough to know what's going on apparently. I watch curiously out of the corner of my eye as a three year old girl thrashes violently about in her Mother's arms- who is desperately trying to shush her quiet.

"You won't," the woman coaxes desperately. "You're too young; you won't- please be quiet Esmeri-"

"I don't wanna! I don't wanna-!"

Yet the little girl continues to cry and wail over her Mother's voice, attracting the attention of everyone in the street. There are looks of sympathy, along with disapproving glares of the woman's inability to control her daughter.  
Part of me wants to reconcile the girl and convince her that she is in no danger, but another part of me is happy that she has not lost all sense of foreboding that everyone else apparently has.

All children hate the games, or at least back in the orphanage they did. The girls would cry and the boys would go silent; no one wanted to watch. Luckily we didn't have to, but we learned early on through listening that the District children weren't so lucky.

This year they'll probably watch with smiles on their faces, knowing that only the Capitol will suffer. I don't know whether or not to be disappointed in them.  
After all these years of endless dying, they've forgotten why they hate the games. It's not because they're dying, but because children are dying.

-but if it's the Capitol's children, like the crying girl from moments before, _it's totally fine_.

...sometimes it's no wonder I don't want to talk to anyone... in a world like this.

When I reach the roll taker, there's a bit of an issue when he recognise me and my link to Aunt Romania. Apparently she hasn't signed off, and they're suspecting that she's not going to. With no other choice, I tell them that I have no idea where she is or what she's doing.

"-She's just making trouble for the both of you," The roll taker grunts, checking my name off with red ink. "No idea why you put up with her..."

I don't really have an answer to that, so I just shrug and keep my eyes on the ground.

"Boys section is on the left, it's marked eighteens." The man looks at me, and gives me an odd sort of smirk. "Do you have a last name to give me? There's just a 'D' after your name."

I pause for a moment. Then, as gently as possible, I say-

"I was never given a last name."

There's a flicker of realisation in the roll taker's eyes that he's just recognised me as an orphan, but he masks it by coughing randomly and cutting off his gaze. I swallow the sigh and steadily make my way over to the left hand side of the audience- noticing the line of rope with the paper sign painted '**18's**' in bold, black letters.

Even here I don't blend in. None of the guys around me let me sidle in amongst them, knowing me as the only boy in the 'Sector' to not go to school with them- and undoubtedly they only know me as Aunt Romania's 'boy'.  
I can't feel bitter about it. They only know so little because neither my Aunt nor I have bothered to set the record straight for anyone else. I can't blame them for looking at me with distrusting eyes... I can't be frustrated... no matter how much I may want to be...

About ten minutes pass before the mayor steps up to the podium. He has a rather pointed face and makes no nonsense about the Treaty of Treason- instead handing the attention of the stage to the escort. A spiky green haired woman, swaying about in her high heels with a cheery expression- eagerly grasps the microphone in her hand.

"Hello dear Sector 8, my name is Quiche and I'll be your escort!" I can see several strands of hair sticking to the sweat on her forehead. She must be nervous. "Let's all be good friends, okay?"

-I can't believe someone so ignorant is in charge of pulling up children to die. Then again, the entire committee for the games are obnoxiously ignorant- so I don't see why I'm so surprised.

"So to our tributes today," Quiche shuts her eyes and flattens her hands over her chest. "Please do your best for us back home, okay? Promise?"

Part of me is trying to convince the rest of me not to hate her for being such a scatterbrained person- but it isn't working. She's so callously ignorant of what she's doing and saying.

No one is going to fight for 'Sector 8's' honour. If anything, they'll fight so they never have to hear the words 'Sector 8' again.

-That's what I'd fight for. I guess.

"Girl's first then, isn't it?"

Quiche's show smile flickers as she careens over to the reaping balls, hand outstretched. As I stand a head above everyone else, I can see the entire female side of the audience stiffen in expectation as the escort shakily makes her way back to the podium.  
Suddenly- I catch sight of the mayor, reaching for the woman as she grabs the microphone. I watch in mild wonder as he silently words for her to stop- but Quiche continues-

"Diego... sorry, there's no last name-"

-and I stop thinking.

"Do we have a Miss Diego?"

...my name they called. Of course. My name without a last name... the only name without a surname... I don't know whether to be disappointed by the cliché or glad that at least I know no one needs to suffer in place of me.

The boys around me begin to move, while I hear snickers and chortles from throughout the street. Blustered and embarrassed- Quiche quickly corrects herself, asking for a 'Mr. Diego' while staring into the crowd of guys desperately.

There's no sense in standing here. I wouldn't want anyone to die in my stead anyway.

I'm greeted by Quiche holding out a hand for me to shake, but I bluntly reject it by refusing to meet her hand with mine. Her face continues to redden as I stand tall and focus my eyes on the horizon above the crowd; a horizon obscured by the buildings of the Capitol. She asks for volunteers- but I know that no one will volunteer. I don't want anyone to volunteer for me. Perhaps it shows on my face.

-Now there really is nothing separating me from the tributes of all the Games past. Here I stand, alone, facing a glamorized death. I'll never know what it's like to live in a home filled with love and noise. I'll never reach my dream of fixing Panem from the ashes it's burning itself into. I've run out of the luck of being a faceless Capitol citizen...

"-and congratulations Mr. Diego, you're Sector 8's lucky first tribute!"

_'We -wish the Capitol tributes called up today good luck-_'

Luck.

-Wait-

"_Now _we'll choose our lucky girl..."

It's hard to contain my breathing as my mind unravels. The world around me slowly fades out as I begin to contemplate the opportunity that fate has just handed to me- which it would hand to so few others.  
I can reach my goal of fixing Panem. The games have nearly sparked rebellions before. They certainly could again.

"Koriana Wilder!"

It just needs someone to help it in the right direction. It needs someone who knows how to set it on the right course. Luck it needs. Luck.

I've been given that luck. Anyone else could've been chosen, someone willing to die without using the opportunity to end these Games forever and set Panem straight again.

But _I_ _was picked_.

The tall orphan boy... the boy without a last name... Diego. I can do this. I alone can do this for Panem.

Perhaps my life of being always alone will pay off in this instant.

**

* * *

**

It only takes about ten minutes for me to realise that Aunt Romania isn't coming to visit me before I'm taken along to the Remake centre with 'Koriana', my Sector partner. It took me a while to calm down after my epiphany, but once I did I was suddenly very aware of the girl who had been called up with me.

She looks like a Capitol girl, the kind I'd see on television advertising flippant products. However the way she held herself told me that she wasn't as obnoxious as her appearance made her out to be.  
I was most intrigued by her eyes. The girl had decided to dye her irises black- giving her a very cartoonish, unreal sort of look to her face.

-perhaps it's rash to think this, but I know that the majority of the girls chosen for these games will be just like her. I'm still certain I want to pull off my spark of rebellion alone, though I'm unsure how just yet, but even if I wanted help- it doesn't seem likely I'll find any.

There are people in her tent, crying loud enough for me to hear. My own velvet tent feels very empty in comparison- but it doesn't surprise me. I'm used to being alone, as I always reassure myself.

...What would it be like, I wonder... to have someone cry over my seemingly imminent death? I'm sure it'd be devastating, but also strangely gratifying- knowing that there's someone to miss you when you're gone.

No one will miss me. I have no one, after all. I suppose that's why I'm so willing to die a martyr instead of a shadow of a nobody.

Diego. That's all I am. A tribute who looks to be forgotten the moment he dies.

I can only hope that I won't be forgotten. Perhaps to be the face of a rebellion is too ambitious, but to be known as a trigger, a spark... a detonator... that would be satisfying after a life of hollowness.

"-Mr. Diego?"

My eyes snap open, even though I wasn't even aware I had closed them. Much to my surprise, standing before me is the roll taker from earlier.

"...yes?" My voice is flat and listless. "What is it?"

"...Romania... she's not... coming."

There's something in his voice that I can't recognise. It takes a moment before I recognise it as guilt. The way the man's brown eyes keep shifting about the room is starting to make me feel a little cautious.

"...I wasn't expecting her," I answer blankly, still staring at him. "...but why do you say this? Why did you come here to tell me she isn't coming?"

There's silence. The man opens his mouth wordlessly, struggling to keep his head up. I feel my hands tighten around the edge of the seat as he clenches his eyes shut in grief and says-

"She's been killed."

...more silence...

_You and I are meant to live and die. That's it Diego._

That's not it Romania. I know it's not.

I won't let it be.

"...good luck."

* * *

**A review goes a long, long way. Thank you for your time. :)**


	18. S9, Frantic Sister

**A Vivid Note: **so whenever I'm unable to get to a computer, but I have pen and paper handy- I sketch out ideas for the interview outfits. So far, I've only completed Liotta's- but I might get more done. Check out the links on my profile if you'd like to see! (_My art isn't the best out there, but it isn't too shabby._) And, as always- make sure to take the poll if you haven't already. :D

This chapter brings us the tribute by _stravvberry and Miss-Almond_, and I have to say- I am insanely glad that I made you all send me in Capitol tributes, because the Districts just _don't _make them like this at all! I'm sure you'll find her more amusing than the other tributes. She was _so hard to write _though! I make a point of making each character likable on some level- and she took a while to portray correctly.

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Britney Frailer; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 9._

"How many times have I told you to _stop stealing _my make-up?"

Ugh. Every single bloody day it's like this. Always. Without fail! I'm so sick of it.

"I didn't steal your make-up Britt!"

"-yes you _did_- and _don't_ call me Britt!"

Lunging forwards, I snare my little sister by her upper arm- tugging her backwards as she screams for our Mother. With gritted teeth, I force her to unroll her rose-pink palm- revealing the cracked blush kit.

That was_ expensive_.

"You broke it!" I hold her still- angrily showing her the broken case. "You little- this is exactly why I told you not to steal my make-up, you just _ruin _everything-!"

Okay, I admit I sound like a total bitch right now, but remember- I've had to deal with having _two _little sisters who have absolutely no manners or self-control for _six whole years. _I'm done with playing nice.

"M-Mom!" I wince as my little sister begins to shriek at the top of her lungs, holding me away at arm's length. "B-Britney's _being mean to_ _me_!"

"I-I am not!" My voice breaks into a choke and my eyes widen. "-Stop lying-!"

Right on cue- Mom herself comes storming around the corner- a magazine in one hand and her face set to stun behind her pince-nez. Though I can't see it, I can tell that my little sister is immensely proud of herself in this moment, as she always is once she's called in the big guns.

"Let go of your sister _right now_." My Mother growls, grabbing my arm and yanking my entire body upwards. "Really Britney, I expect _better _from you-"

"She broke my-" I start furiously, holding forth the mangled blush kit.

"-you shouldn't wear make-up anyway, you're too young!" With that, the ruined kit is snatched right out of my hands before I can even think of retaliating. "You're setting a horrible example for your sisters-"

"They're just horrible little monsters-" I mutter sourly.

-My Mother doesn't answer this- probably because she's tired enough without the added strain- and instead briskly walks back down the corridor, disappearing into the lounge room to mumble and sigh over the frustration her children have become.  
And, deprived of her comeuppance, my little sister pokes her little tongue out at me and hurries away to her room, smiling all the way.

It takes all my energy not to scream at the top of my lungs sometimes.

This is one of those times.

Alright, so I have it good in this world. I have nice things, even if they're constantly butchered and ruined by my snot-brained sisters, and I have lots of friends in school. Plus I'm also quite pretty, which should be enough to keep me happy, but you know how life is. You can't be happy with just looks alone- you can't. Life forces products and perfumes and... Ugh, you know. Without them you're still pretty, but you'll never be 'truly' happy.

That's why my Mother hates me I think, because I can't be happy without things. She didn't grow up in a 'material' based world apparently- which supposedly makes her allowed to be all high and mighty- _and _assume I should grow up just like her. Hah. I hate her sometimes, I really do.

Once I retreat back to the temporary safety of my room, I get back to working on preparing for the reaping- which was what I was trying to do in the first place before my whole 'little sister' fiasco happened. I suppress a groan at the chair lying on its back- remembering my explosion upon learning my sister was stealing my things.

Why me? Almost all of my friends are single children- but why couldn't I be an only child too? No, that's wrong- could I have just _not _had younger sisters? I mean, I love my older brother- just not the... 'Dynamic Duo'.

This isn't the first time one of my little sisters has taken something of mine and broken it- and I know for sure it won't be the last. Whenever there's an occasion to get ready for- which is pretty often since I'm sort of a social girl- they always want 'in on the fun'. So they steal my make-up, wriggle their way into my wardrobe and just generally... ruin my stuff in general.

Again I say, _ugh_. Being an older sister is hard- especially when your little sisters aren't willing to make it _any _easier for you. Le_ sigh_.

Most of my anger evaporates into a slight sense of relief as I see the white steep neck dress hanging from my wardrobe's doorhandle. The one I had picked out so long ago, the day after the card had been read. I've made sure to keep it safe until today, free from my sisters and their sticky fingers.  
My friends and I usually pick our dresses out together, but I did it alone this time. It was a long shopping trip, but well worth it. When you can finally pick out a dress without needing the approval of all eleven of your friends- yet _still _confidentlyknow it's _the_ buy you need, you know you've made the right choice.

At least... I think it is. My confidence tends to waver after this long.

It seems plausible to think that finding occasions to go dress shopping are rare- but in all honest truth, I buy about three new dresses a fortnight. Since I'm so... _social_- there always seems to be a fresh occasion on the horizon, so there's always a need to buy a new dress.

-I'm a firm believer in _never _recycling dresses. Not since I was laughed back into the Stone Age back at the junior dance for accidentally wearing the same dress I had worn at a party two weeks before hand. I don't think I've ever felt so embarrassed in my life- at least not until that get together _last _year where my sister came out in front of all my friends brandishing an armful of my_... sanitary products_.

...don't ask_. Please_. Don't.

It's quite hard to find dresses that suit me, since my hair is so... well, as my Mother would say 'outlandish'. I have long blonde hair, though it only goes to my chest really, with streaks in purple, red and green. The rest of my body is alright, with my expert dieting skills and all. I just wish I was a little shorter- because everyone knows that guys only like girls who are smaller than them.

-That's why my skill of finding amazing dresses is probably my best and most useful talent. Even though I'm tall- I find dresses that show off my curves and it seems to take the edge off my height. Plus all the fake tan and the eyelashes help too- though I'm not sure how exactly...

"Britney- can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Mm-?" I'm a little surprised to see my older brother standing awkwardly in my doorway. I smile and turn back to my dressing table, uncapping several make-up containers. "Oh, yeah you can- but only for a little bit- I have to get dressed soon. I mean, I would be dressed by now but you know- that stupid little brat had to take my favourite-"

"-I mean a serious talk."

..._that_... I wasn't expecting.

"Well, I'm a little busy-" my hand fumbles a bottle of concealer. Why is my brother wanting to have a serious talk with me now of all times? "-can't it wait for later?"

"No, it can't wait." His voice is surprisingly stern, not at all like the laid-back brother I'm used to having. "Britney, please?"

Since I can't really argue against someone who looks so dire, I leave my vanity table and take a seat on the bed as my brother paces a bit before sitting down beside me. A long time passes before he even opens his mouth, and then it takes him a minute or two before he can properly form a sentence.

"I... I wanted to tell you... if the worst happens..." My brother looks like he's on the verge of a breakdown. His lip won't stop trembling. "If... if my name is called-"

"...why are you saying this?" Words can't describe how awkward I feel right now. I do my best not to recoil away from my brother, who has always been the strong, 'together' member of the family. "-you're not _actually _going to be picked, you know that right?"

There's a breath of silence for a moment. I watch as my brother's eyebrows twitch, slowly pushing down on his eyes as he wrenches his eyes away from the floor and then focusing hard on mine.

"No, I _don't_ know that." His expression is grim, and to be honest it's frightening me.  
"If... if I'm picked Britney, I need you to know that you can't volunteer for me- to be with me in these games. Someone has to stay here and take care of the family."

Inside my mouth, my tongue feels very dry. Almost like it's swollen up. Somehow my silence seems to communicate my confusion much better than words could- because my brother continues.

"...I know you don't think it'll happen... but..." Oh god, he's wringing his hands. I don't know what to do in this situation- I just don't. "I have a... bad feeling is all... promise you won't scare Mom or anyone, okay?"

"...I won't..." I try to smile, but it feels more like a weird sort of spasm on my face. "Just, stop it with this getting reaped stuff, 'kay? Today is meant to be fun."

My words were meant to be comforting, like something to cheer him up and make him stop all the paranoid words. Yet somehow what I said causes my older brother's face to twinge into a look of utter misery, like I've somehow expressed something really disappointing to him.

"...thank you... Britney."

**

* * *

**

Much to my horror, Mom _doesn't _leave my little sisters at home for the reaping- and insists that they won't cause me any embarrassment. I can't find the right words to express my anger- especially not when the younger of the two takes it upon herself to sneeze into the hem of my dress as I mark my name off.

"Mom, keep them _away from me_," I wrench my dress out of her chubby hands, watching as her smile fades. "You promised-"

"I know, I know-" My Mother looks terrible for wear, and is pressing her left hand into her temple. "Stay with me sweetheart, come on-"

"Why can't Britney stand with us?"

"It's not fair; I want Britt' to stand with us Mommy-!"

Oh god. I scrunch my face up and give a muffled shriek through my nose- only heard by the slightly smiling roll taker. Spinning on my heel- I stare my barrel of frustration down at my little sisters- who stare back at me with our Mother's skirt in their hands.

"Don't call me _Britt'_," I growl through gritted teeth. "-and please, don't cause a fuss- you're going to give me a headache too."

On a normal day, this sort of statement would result in me receiving a brutal lecture from my Mother, a harsh reprimand from my Father- and two dastardly grins from the dirty pair of sisters as my older brother looks on tiredly.  
However, I'm sort of surprised when their faces fall into what looks like complete despair- and my Mother bites her lip as both my Father and brother do their best to look away from me.

"...are you... are you okay Britney?" I'm taken aback by how gentle my Mother's voice is. "Are you sure you're up for this?"

...what is up with everyone today? I can feel my face grow hot as all eyes are suddenly focused on me. Why are they all so worried about this? I'm not worried at all- and I'm the only one up for reaping! Well... except for my Brother... and he's worrying heaps actually...

"I'm fine, really." I want them to stop all this worrying. It's making me feel sort of... anxious. "Stop it; I don't like it when you guys aren't annoying me."

There we go. A small smile cracks across my father's lips- but that's all the response I get. Deciding that things are probably only going to get more tense then this- I force myself to give each of my family a hug before I try and hurry off to the portion of the crowd delegated to the fifteen year old girls.  
-Much to my surprise however, my little sisters take a rather long time to hug me before letting go. I stare in mild astonishment as I realise what had just occurred- but not before I hear the Mayor announce that it's time for him to begin the reaping.

"Um... I love you guys?" I raise an eyebrow, hoping my gesture is enough to stop this odd feeling that's apparently aching through us all. "Okay?"

Though I was sort of expecting it, I'm disappointed that my words have no real effect. So instead of waiting around any longer- I hurry to the roped off area marked '**15's**' and try to remain still on the outskirts of the female crowd- hoping that I'll be able to find my friends after all this is over.  
Part of me is hoping they'll make this better. Not one single piece of me was worried about the reaping before my family turned all... strange on me. Before I was looking forward to hanging out with my friends, partying in our new dresses... but now all I can think of is how terrified my brother seems- so sure that he's going to be taken away...

"-I'll pass the stage to our escort... Miss Frilli..." I glance up to see the mayor step aside for a woman with short, layered teal hair- appropriately dressed in a one-piece made of tiled frills. "Miss Frilli, you may begin."

I can hear several girls to my left mutter amongst themselves, but what about I can't hear. Nervously I pull at my dress- trying to recapture that feeling of confidence I had held not so long ago. Though it's not really conscience- I do my best not to watch as Frilli introduces herself with a happy banter, wishing our Sector the best of luck in our games.

"I'll now call out our lucky female tribute-!"

It won't... it won't be me. Why would it be? I slowly conjure up my breathing, steadying each intake as I grip my sides tighter without truly realising. My eyes follow the expensive pair of pumps as they quickly and elegantly make short strides to the reaping ball- and fear begins to fill my heart as I hear the paper slips rustling against her fingers.

...it won't be me... this won't affect me... dress... nice dress... not me...

"Please welcome our lucky female tribute-"

I take that one final deep breath, promising myself that there's no way it'll be me, that there's no reason for it to be me. Relax Britney... just... relax-

"-Britney Frailer!"

...

...no...

"Britney Frailer, up here if you please-!"

...no... dreaming... I'm... this isn't... it isn't real...? My eyes begin to water as I struggle just to move my foot from its place. This... this can't be really... happening... can it...?

"Britney Frailer?"

I have to move. The crowd is turning... watching me... move Britney... get to the stage... this isn't happening... this _isn't happening_-

My heels click against the pavement with every step- like I'm descending the stairwell to another world. All eyes turn on me- each of them filled with remorse as I struggle to keep my head straight- and not focused on my hands that are digging into my dress for some paper thin shred of support...

"Now let's have a hand for Britney-" Frilli's voice is quaking a little. Even she feels sorry for me. This is... this is happening-? "Now-"

Then, I hear an odd sound. Like a dying animal. A small animal's cry. And my eyes slowly begin to focus once again as I recognise its owner.

"No! No Britney! No Britney! Don't take Britney!"

My throat closes up and my eyes widen as I recognise the shrill cry. The entire crowd almost sets alight with alarm as the little girl in the outer crowd screams and cries as her Mother desperately tries to hold her back from causing a scene. By her feet, I watch as the other collapses into a tangled mess- grabbing at her hair and bawling into the pavement below.

...my... my sisters... my baby sisters...

...don't cry Britney. For the love of god, don't cry now... you can't... you'll...

"I'LL VOLUNTEER!" Tears stream down her chubby face, tangling in her curly blonde hair. "DON'T TAKE BRITNEY! DON'T TAKE BRITNEY-!"

"A-Are there any volunteers?" Frilli winces as the shrieks grow higher and more violent in pitch, doing her best to ignore the ineligible pleas. "Anyone?"

"DON'T TAKE MY SISTER! DON'T TAKE BRITNEY!"

They're both screaming so hard, but everyone else is forcing themselves to ignore them. I want to look away, to block their cries from my mind too- but I can't. My hands instinctively find their way to my ears- and as I bite down on my lip I feel the tears break forth as I hear my second sister break into screams as well-

"I V-VOLUNTEER!" Her voice screeches over the crowd, over the dry sobs of other women and children. "DON'T TAKE OUR BRITNEY-!"

Please- please stop crying. I can't stop crying-!

"-Going once-!"

I treated them like monsters- worse than that sometimes. I never showed them how much I truly loved them. I thought I had years to be able to redeem myself once they were older-!

"-PLEASE-!"

"-Going twice-!"

-Why did I treat them so badly? Why? I love them- I love them! Don't take me away from them now-! I can't leave them like this-!

"BRITNEY-!"

But it's all ignored. Their pleas and mine fall on deaf ears, and my stomach drops out as I hear Frilli's choked voice cry across the crowded street-

"-And congratulations Sector 9 on your female tribute, Britney Frailer!"

I can't breathe. All I can see is my family, stricken with dread as they watch me crumple. My hands still clutching my ears, I clench my eyes shut and feel the world spin and tilt around me as the sky comes crashing down above me.

-_Monsters_.

**

* * *

**

The world is rumbling... It's shaking... and jittering about... like the sky is still falling down. I feel my face scrunch up as my eyes struggle to lift as my head aches where the world hit me.

"Ah, I-I think she's waking up-"

...I can feel someone beside me shift nervously. Without really realising- I steady panic begins to dawn on me as I blindly reach out for my family- the last ones I saw- the first ones I want to see when I wake up. I want to see them; I need to see them-

My arm snares an arm- and I grapple for its hand. Though my vision is blurry- I can see that I'm in a small space- on a seat- and there's a boy beside me. My brother? Is it my brother?

"-w-where are they-?" I mutter hoarsely, surprised by my husky voice. "Sisters- where are they-?"

He doesn't answer me. As my eyes slowly come into focus, I can see the outline of his throat warp as he swallows, almost nervously as my eyes begin to squint and widen- my grip shooting open as I recognise my mistake.

It's not my brother. My eyes dart up and down- taking in the form of the stranger who stares back at me, the emotion in his eyes completely unrecognisable to me. My mouth opens and closes wordlessly as Frilli- sitting in the car seat opposite- begins to dab at my forehead with a wet cloth.

"You passed out sweetheart, too much excitement-" Her voice is breathy, sort of restless even. "Don't worry- we're almost at the remake centre-"

What? My breathing escalates- my hands shooting together- clutching each other as I stare in horror at the boy beside me. Flame tattoos up his arms. Silver stud piercing. Faux-hawk. Earring.

Not my brother.

Not my brother-!

"W-Where am I?" I whirl around, wild with panic as I grab for Frilli's shoulders. "My family- where's my family-?"

"T-They're back in Sector 9 Britney-" Frilli tries to wriggle away from me- but I dig my nails in- causing her to squeak. "L-Let go of me Britney-"

"Take me back." My voice is like an inhuman croak, my body going numb with the mortified realisation coursing through me. "Take me back-! TAKE ME BACK-!"

"G-Get off me!" Frilli's shriek falls past my ears- her head snapping in the direction of the driver. "STOP THE CAR! SOMEONE STOP HER-!"

"TAKE ME BACK-!" I'm past breaking point. Hysteria. My family. I need my family. "TAKE ME BACK!"

Just as I'm about to push Frilli further- a strong pair of hands grapples me from behind- forcefully yanking me away from the petrified escort. Screaming, I struggle against them- but the iron clad grasp yanks me into an odd sort of embrace- the boy's chin resting atop my still thrashing head.

"...I'm sorry... there's... there's no going back now."

...this... this isn't happening... I watch as Frilli tries to compose herself, holding herself around the shoulders as she stares at me with panicked eyes... tears are falling down my face... and I don't know when they started...

"I didn't..." I feel my face contort, scrunching up in misery. "I didn't... I didn't say _goodbye_-"

The car has stopped shaking. The world is still. Yet the flame-riddled arms slowly encircle me, this condemned stranger holding me in an awkward embrace as I begin to quake with my pain, steadily realising what has happened... what is happening...

This... _this_ is happening.

...and this... this is...

This... is real.

* * *

**As always, reviews help in a multitude of ways. Thank you kindly for your time. :)**


	19. S9, Loving Brother

**A Vivid Note: **we're getting there! You have _no_ idea how happy the idea of finishing the reapings makes me. I toss about in my dreams thinking I've already done them. Haha, perhaps I don't- but it's almost at that calibre. Almost.  
-And we reached 200 reviews! You have no idea how much that stunned me. Your feedback really means the _world _to me, it helps keeps me motivated- and also knows what I'm doing right, and also who is more... killable. So thank you- this story has depended on you just as much as it depends on my writing it. Haha.

Today's tribute is brought to you by _Tour de Force, _and I am loving the guy's style. Faux hawk? Yes _please, _haha. Perhaps it's an acquired taste. I wasn't sure how old all his siblings were, so I just sort of... made them as old as I liked. It worked out alright I think... haha.  
Anyway, I'm thinking you'll all like him- he's Capitol on the outside, but on the inside he's... well he's different- as each of the tributes are in their own _special snowflake way_.

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Montserrat Pierre de Saint-Phillipe; 18 years; the Capitol Sector 9._

It's just a morning like any other I've ever woken up to. As the sunlight hits my eyelids, I can hear the sounds of our house brimming with Capitol life; my father and Mercutio singing, Flavius laughing and Dolca bustling about the kitchen. Even on my floor I can hear the steady beat of my golden retriever Stark's tail pounding the carpet.

-but in two seconds, the smile that twitched the corners of my lips fades into a wince as I remember what today really is, and that it is _not _a day like any other.

The reaping is today. I've been dreading today since the damn card was read.

Pulling my body out of bed is the easiest part, because the second my toes touch the floor- Stark lunges forwards and begins lapping about at my legs like the furry but lovable lummox he is. Yet even he can't put a decent smile on my face, so I quickly stroke his ears and stagger my way around him and start preparing for the morning workout.

If someone were to base what today was going to be like because of the atmosphere of the house- they'd probably think today was some grand occasion or something. Nothing else could explain the rich smell of cinnamon toast wafting through the hallways, and the constant flow of laughter stemming from the dining room.  
I'm pleased to admit that my home life is a very pleasant one. Enjoyable, I suppose I can say. Lots of people assume that I'm one of those 'lost causes' because of the way I dress, but nothing could be further from the truth, honestly.

Sure, the alterations make me out to be much... wilder than I am, what with the grey skin, red flame tattoos, webbed digits, faux-hawk, earring, lip piercing... but I didn't get those alterations to frighten people off. Surprising as it is, I believe in alterations as a form of self-expression, and I know that when people look at me, my passion for strength burns brightest.

-Coupled with the muscle definition I've gained through my rigorous training scheme over the past ten or so years, it's harder to see anything else I guess.

Stark knows not to get in the way once I pick up my hand weights. I'm not feeling too fresh today, so I go for the fifteens instead of the heavier samples in my repertoire. Dragging my feet back into my room- I stifle a yawn as I slowly begin my morning reps.

"-Monty, can't you skip the routine today and just have breakfast?"

Though my eyes haven't properly accustomed to being awake yet- I know when one of the twins is talking to me- just not _which _one. Despite having the same alterations opportunities as I do- they haven't taken them, both having long light brown hair and no tattoos. In response I grunt, hoping a little to be left alone without further pestering- and not to have the embarrassing fact that I can't tell the two apart so early in the morning.

"_Come on_ Monty, Dad wants everyone to eat at the breakfast table today-"

Ah, it's Eresenda. I can't help but smirk now that I've figured it out. I know because Elisenda calls Mercutio 'Father', _never _'Dad'. There are a lot more distinguishing traits- but this is the only one that stands out at the moment.  
They've lived here for a while now. When they first came- they were shy- and seemed to cry a lot, especially Eresenda. Flavius was never good with young girls- which he blamed on being homosexual- so it was always me who ended up drying their tears. Because of this, we ended up a lot closer than any of the other siblings.

"Can everyone even _fit _at the breakfast table?" I smirk at her, lowering the weights carefully onto the bed. "I don't think we've eaten there since-"

"-oh come on, please?" Eresenda stares at me, puffing up her lips and narrowing those fake green eyes. "It's really yummy; we're having some sort of toast buffet."

"Sounds awful," I snort, unable to control the smile cracking my face. "-We don't have any bacon or eggs?"

"Flavius _hates _bacon, you should know that."

"Yeah, yeah... alright then, let me put these away-"

I'm not really in the mood for weights anyway. Breakfast with the family might just give this day that little something to make it not be completely unbearable. I hope so anyway.

Our house is full of life because the house itself is full of people. Here on the first floor are bedrooms for me and the twins- Eresenda and Elisenda- my step sisters. Their father Mercutio and my father- Franco- have their bedroom on the second floor. My brother Flavius took up the basement as his bedroom- transforming it into a game room slash hide-out place for himself- and Dolce lives in and out of home, since she likes to spend quite a lot of time out with friends, so her bedroom on the second floor is slowly becoming a library instead.

It isn't really rare for us to all be packed in the house together, because we all get along and enjoy the company- but it is rare for us all to... 'congregate' over something like breakfast. Usually we all just clamour in front of the television on Sunday nights and watch whatever drivel is on.

"So what's the occasion?" I ask as my step-sister traipses out of my bedroom, waiting for me to follow. "Toast day?"

"That's March twenty-third, and you should know it." Eresenda revels for a moment as I stare at her in disbelief. "Sorry, Flavius said so when Dolca asked the exact same question like ten minutes ago, and I was dying to say so anyway."

I have to admit, for a fourteen year old- my step-sister has spunk.

"It sounds ridiculous," I chortle as the two of us leave my doorway. "_Toast _day."

"Why? Eresenda looks at me with quizzical eyes. "I think it's a perfectly fine holiday. It's right up there with 'talk like a pirate day', and 'peanut day'- both of those are in September by the way."

"How do you _know _this stuff?"

"I have a laptop and a lot of free time." Eresenda's eyes twinkle devilishly, eliciting a grin from my face. "Being a twin isn't half as fun as you might think it is."

"I guess that's a good thing." With every word I can feel my bad mood wisping away. "At least you're not alone for today- after all; one of us might not be coming home."

We don't talk for a few moments as we slowly near the kitchen. As I'm pondering over how large our house actually is, I realise that the silence might be bothering Eresenda- so I close my eyes, grin and strike up again-

"...but _Toast _day? What a stupid thing to celebrate..."

Expecting some kind of playful rebuttal again- I wait for her to answer, but all I hear is a strange sort of fractured breathing. Her footsteps beside mine come to a sudden stop- and as I turn to see what the commotion is- I'm frozen in alarm.

"Eresenda-?"

Tears stream down her face, tangling in her hair and dripping off her chin. Her mouth opens wordlessly- and against the laughter coming from the nearby kitchen- I can barely hear Eresenda at all.  
Why is she crying? I open my mouth to speak, but I'm not at all sure what to say right now. Did I say something that upset her? Was it what I said about not coming home-?

"I... I'm sorry..." My fingers twitch by my sides. I want to lift something. "Ere... I didn't... did I-?"

What happens next makes no sense to me that it's as if I was watching from outside. A pair of hands grabs onto my shoulders- her thin arms wrapping around me as tightly as they can manage. My eyes shoot open and my body freezes to the spot- unable to comprehend what the hell is going on.

She pulls away, tears still clinging to her eyelashes as I open and shut my mouth like some sort of dying fish. I'm shaking my head, unable to move my body from the girl as she begins to shiver like something terrible has just happened.

"E-Eresenda-" My voice chokes out, barely audible as I hear someone chattering in the next room. "W-What... why did-?"

I can't finish the question, and Eresenda doesn't answer. Instead, she lets out a weak sob before turning and rushing back down- hands over her face as she runs. My mouth can't seem to close and my hands begin to shake as I try to piece together what the hell just happened between us.

-something is very wrong with today.

**

* * *

**

"Yo', Monty- you aren't actually worried about being reaped, are you?"

Flavius looks at me curiously as I struggle to part my gaze from Eresenda- who is walking just ahead of us with Elisenda and our father. Just behind us Dolca and Mercutio are talking to one another- snide remarks and the occasional chortle.  
No one asked any questions when Eresenda didn't come back for breakfast. Apparently they weren't expecting her- and she hadn't acted strange all morning.

-I haven't said anything to anyone. I don't really want to make a big fuss out of it. So all I'm doing is pinning this to Eresenda's nerves because of the reaping. After all, both she and her sister are eligible- same with me. Only Dolce and Flavius are safe- what with Dolca being nineteen and Flavius being twenty-three.

"Monty? Don't make me say your whole name- what's wrong?"

"Huh?" I flinch, pulling my arm away from Flavius's fingertips. "Yeah- yeah I'm fine; I'm just not looking forward to this so much."

"Really?" Flavius's eyebrows disappear into the brilliant pink of his hair. "Monty, this is history in the making- you're going to witness the first group of Capitol children to take on the Hunger Games-"

"I don't care, you know I don't watch the games anyway," I mutter, focusing again on Eresenda. Even her back looks pained. "-they're a waste of time."

"You just have a weak stomach." Flavius taunts; smiling knowledgably as he always does. "Silly Monty."

"Yeah..." I don't have the will to argue with him. "Whatever..."

My uninterested reaction seems to displease my brother, who walks the rest of the way beside me in silence. From what I can see, Elisenda is lively chatting to her sister- who makes weak attempts to smile and nod every few minutes. Mercutio is blithely wandering with them- showing no sign at all that he has picked up on his daughter's distress.

...perhaps it was just a moment of weakness. Maybe it _was _something I had said.

I'll have to apologise after, to make sure she's not angry at me. I don't think we've ever had a proper argument before- since I'm not usually one to talk and she's not one to cause a fuss. That's really more Elisenda's thing.

"Okay, so you three get your names marked off and we'll wait for you when this is over by the front steps of the gala, alright?" Mercutio's eyes sweep across the twins and I, but he lingers longer on his own daughters. "Stick together you two, okay?"

"We will, we will!" Elisenda beams, hugging her sister tightly around the shoulders.  
"Come on Ere-"

Our eyes meet for a tiny fraction of a second before she is pulled away by her more eccentric twin sister- while I shuffle off to another roll taker before heading over to the section marked '**18's**'. Though there are people I recognise, I do my best not to draw too much attention to myself- lest I have to force awkward conversation.

It's not that I don't know anyone here. I know them all. We're all in the same year, except for those who have already left for work- and even then, you see each other everywhere. It's not like people in the Capitol can move very far away- even if you somehow get out of the border, leaving Panem is impossible.

Leaving isn't on my to-do list. To be honest, I wasn't even planning on going to school for the past two years- but my Father urged me to continue despite that. It's what my real father would've wanted... if he was alive, I guess.

I've always been pretty reserved, sort of different from the other teenagers my age. I sure look like a wild sort of party guy- but I hate parties. Heck, I even hate drinking. I suppose that's sort of why I never made too many friends... just sort of hung around at home... training.

-that's another thing that separates me from the other kids in this crowd. I don't think any of them want to be professional shot-putters. I'm fairly sure most of them don't even know it's possible to _be _a professional shot-putter.

"Sector 9, it is time to begin the reaping-"

All eyes snap to the mayor, who is standing tentatively at the podium atop the wooden stage. I can feel my hand unconsciously moving up and down- yearning for something to lift to distract myself of what's about to happen.  
...when I'm anxious... I train... and right now, I don't think I've ever been this anxious...

"-I'll pass the stage to our escort... Miss Frilli..." A woman with short greenish looking hair steps up to take the microphone. "Miss Frilli, you may begin."

This woman... does she have a family like mine? Where breakfast is a huge deal- and that if her sister cries it bothers her constantly afterwards-?

"That's right, my name is Frilli- and I'm rooting for _you _Sector 9!" The woman bobs up and down in her frilled dress, winking and waving as she speaks. "I wish you all the best of luck! I'll now call out our lucky female tribute-!"

My hand balls up tighter- aching for that weight to keep it occupied as both my sisters flash through my mind. No, they're not blood related- but they're my sisters... don't be chosen... don't pick their names... not... not them... come on...

Her hand clutches the unlucky slip as she strides back to the podium- unfurling it as she walks.

"Please welcome our lucky female tribute-"

-Not Eresenda-!

"-Britney Frailer!"

A flood of relief consumes me as my muscles loosen up- relaxing even though the awkward silence begins to overtake the street once more. 'Frilli' calls out the girl's name several times more before the telltale sound of heels against the pavement indicate that the girl is moving.

"No! No Britney! No Britney-!"

The voice of a small child is crying from the outer crowd, screaming for what is most likely their family. As the rest of the teeming mass of eighteen year old guys do their best to ignore the screams- I catch a good glimpse of the unlucky girl chosen.

-And I vaguely recognise her.

Britney Frailer; a girl three years my junior- and a cheerleader for the school's sports teams. She and her friends tend to make a joke out of the sport events held in our schooling district- believing that their piece is the only part worth anything.  
We've never spoken. Guys in my year would make crude sexual suggestions about the younger cheerleaders in general- but nothing directed at this girl in particular.

"-Going once-!"

Now that I finally see her, pulled out of her uniform that made her appear so insignificant to me- and standing there on the stage as her baby sister cries out for her... I can see that glimmer of worth that would've gone unseen had this moment not occurred.

"-Going twice-!"

-poor girl. No one will volunteer.

"-BRITNEY-!"

...I'm so glad... that it wasn't Eresenda.

"-And congratulations Sector 9 on your female tribute, Britney Frailer!"

Then suddenly- she begins to fall. There's a sudden gasp and several screams as the girl is barely caught in the arms of a neighbouring camera-man- who had leapt forward to save her from collapsing off the stage. I stand rigid in alarm as Frilli calls for order, and that procedure states to go on with the reaping.

-Of course, with a hundred and twenty-four years of gaming- this has probably happened numerous times in the Districts. Perhaps they're even laughing now- watching this.

Even though I don't have the distraction of a pair of weights- I manage to keep myself preoccupied from Frilli digging her hand into the bowl of names by watching a peace keeper lift up Britney from under the arms- lifting her up and off the stage as they take her for a routine medical check.

"-um... I'm afraid I... erm... Mister Mayor- can you read this?"

-Yet my attention is caught crashing back as the entire crowd watches in wonder as the confused escort holds out the slip for the mayor to read. Buzzes begin in several corners of the crowd- wondering what the problem might be- whether she's pulled a girl's name or a blank slip- but the mayor disproves those theories as he declares in the most articulate voice imaginable-

"Montserrat Pierre de Saint-Phillipe."

...

...she couldn't pronounce it.

"Yes! Monster-rat, up here if you please?" Frilli chirps with a giggle. "Sorry."

...sorry...? My hand jerks up for a second as I try to find my legs. Sorry for _killing _me?

Ah... yeah... I'm going to be killed. With each footstep, the deadly realisation sticks harder and harder to my heart as my head begins to ache with the horrifying truth.

"Any volunteers?"

-Eresenda... did you... did you know this would happen...?

"-Going once-!"

Blood begins to trickle down my palms as the nails dig into the skin.

"-Going twice-!"

I can see her. Elisenda is crying. But she... I bite down on my bottom lip, fighting the pain that seems to be attacking me from the inside... Eresenda looks like she's just been shot... her eyes wide and her hands covering her mouth.

"-And congratulations-!"

Why didn't... why didn't you tell me...?

...Eresenda...?

**

* * *

**

Mercutio cries and my Father spends our last moments apologising for things that never mattered. Not paying for my training equipment, not going to all of my sporting functions... I keep shaking my head, telling him it doesn't matter... but in the end, he leaves looking even more miserable then he did when he came in.

Flavius apologises for making fun before the reaping, and it takes all of his effort not to burst into tears like Mercutio did. We share a moment of silence- like a mutual understanding that this is the last time we will be together, alive, as brothers.  
I try to give him my earring- but he doesn't take it. Instead I insist that he sells all of my training equipment to see him through college- but all that accomplishes is making him break down into shaking sobs.

Dolca doesn't cry, but Elisenda does. As much as I hate to admit it- but I spend the entire session with the two of them wondering where Eresenda is- but neither of them can answer me. Dolca confesses that I was more she could ever hope for in a brother- and that she has faith that I'll come back.  
Elisenda doesn't make any such remarks- but she hugs me tightly and kisses me on both cheeks- crying that I was the best older brother she could've ever hoped for. At that moment I can't help but smile- as I always thought she never cared for me that much.

My tent is growing stuffy around me from all the crying and heavy breathing- but I don't dare leave. Not yet, not before I see Eresenda. I can hear Britney's family crying over her still inanimate body- but I do my best to tune it out.  
This is my goodbye, and not the time to be distracted by hers. All I need to see if one last person... just... just her... just Eresenda...

...and finally... the tent flap opens... and her green eyes still swimming in tears- struggle to even look at me. Crumpled up in her hands, I see a green scarf.  
I don't know what to say to her. There's a tight feeling in my chest that wasn't there with the rest of my family and it seems that all the happiness this girl has brought me over the years is coming back at once as a rush of sadness.

"...I..." Eresenda takes a shaking footstep towards me. "M-Mont... I..."

I don't understand this feeling. It hurts, but I don't want it to go away. I watch as her eyes widen in surprise as I reach my arms out- outstretching my hands towards my step-sister.

"...it's okay."

Just like before... I watch from outside. My hands enclose around her back, pulling her close as she begins to sob quietly. Her nose buries itself in the folds of my shirt, her hands clasping about my back for something to hold onto- while my face is lost in the waves of her hair.

Then- in the wake of her sobs- I hear the confession-

"...I love you..."

Tears are sliding down her face. My eyes clench themselves tightly shut as she begins to whisper- murmuring things that don't make sense to me in this moment of confusion- yet still manage to cause my heart to ache.

"-You're my brother- I know we're not related- but my brother-" Her whimpers are fretful, fearful of being pushed away. "-I love you... n-not like a brother... I-I wanted... I w-wanted to be with you... but then... but then you said that... that we might not be coming back and... and..."

Eresenda can't finish these words. Instead her body crumples against mine as she gives in to a broken cry- unable to hold it back any more. As she screams into my chest, I find my head resting atop her head- my arms still wrapped protectively about her.

...I don't know... what my feelings are towards her... if they're a brother's... or if they're something like... but... whatever they are... I know that... I'm definitely not willing to let her cry like this... all alone... I can't let this happen...

...

...I can't die.

"...I'm coming back..."

Under my hands, she goes still. I hold her tightly, immersing myself in this sorrowful power as I make this promise.

"I can't let you cry without me to dry your tears."

* * *

**Leave a review. It does seem to make me update faster, haha. x**


	20. S10, Despicable Runaway

**A Vivid Note: **Okay, so just when I start updating frequently again- I stop. Gosh you all must hate me. Please don't fret though, because we only have _five more reapings _after this one and we're done with them forever. (_Until I... start my next story. But I'm starting it early so we don't go through this again_.)

Lots of news for this update; so please pardon this gargantuan block of an author's note!

Firstly, **THE CAPITOL GAMES HAS A FORUM! **Please check it out by going to my profile and clicking 'my forums' above my profile picture. Second, I've already begun work on the sequel- 'the Vicious Games'. There aren't any places left since it filled up so fast, but when I'm halfway done with that series- I'll recruit characters again.  
Also, I suggest reviewing this, and other chapters you may have missed. I'll be implementing a sponsoring option later- and the more 'helpful' reviews you have given me, the more points you will ultimately have to save the tributes you care most about. :D

This tribute was entered by _nightange1_, and I hope I wrote her well enough. There's some blood in this chapter (_not spoiling or anything_) so hopefully that action will quench your thirsts. This was _really _hard to write because I was writing through a writer's block, so forgive me if it's sub-par.

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Evon Sanhorn; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 10._

"Why can't you just understand? I'm _not going_-!"

Not since I was a small child throwing a tantrum have I been this infuriated with my parents. Beads of sweat and tears cling to my cheeks as I struggle to contain my anger; knuckles going white with rage as my Father slams his newspaper onto the living room table.

"Evon, we've had _enough _of this attitude!" I recoil as he fiercely stands to his feet- his words spitting across the room. "-_I've _had enough of your attitude! Going to the reaping isn't an option- it's _mandatory _Evon! Mandatory-!"

"What can they possibly do if I don't go?" My eyes widen incredulously. "Dad- you know this is barbaric! I won't go-! Ch!"

In an effort to appear firm, I kick the leg of the couch- but all that achieves is a shooting pain up my right leg as my toe slams painfully against the wood. A low chuckle sounds from behind me, and I whirl around to glare viciously at my brother.

"You think this is _funny-?_" I spit, brandishing my fists at him. "You're just as bad as they are-!"

Johan stares at me in what looks likes the makings of fear- but all too quickly my upper arm is forcibly snared by my Mother's red talons- and I'm pulled back into her infuriated gaze.

"Don't yell at your brother," Her voice is a whisper, but will all the intensity of my Father's roar. "-And get dressed... now."

I want to retaliate. To slap her or yell- or kick her as hard as I can- but I don't. Common sense controls me. I clench my jaw as tightly as I can- wrenching my arm from her perfect nails as I fight against the urge to talk back. Instead I nurse the scratch marks my Mother has given me.

"Now Evon," Her voice is filled with frustration. "Go."

My _wonderful _Mother, how I _adore _her. My eyes are burning with the tears that threaten to well up- so I briskly cut my way from the living room, doing my best not to limp as I snarl under my breath-

"-you're despicable."

No one answers- but I wasn't expecting them to. I give them no time to either, because in less than a second I'm storming down the hallway, up the stairs to the third floor and slamming my door shut- locking it in my fury.  
They'll talk about me now that I'm out of earshot. Bitching and moaning about what a disappointment of a daughter I am. Ugh... I detest them all so much...

Just in case this doesn't come across very well; for a girl with a room decorated in nothing but white, I'm not a very effervescent person.

I'm not 'emo', or suicidal or even remotely gothic in any fashion- I'm just not as bright as other girls my age. My wardrobe is pretty much painted in black clothes, which matches my jet black hair that ends just past my cheeks. If I have to say so, I guess it suits me, since I'm a very black and white person. Things are right or wrong.

-and the Hunger Games are wrong.

At six years old, I smashed our brand new television screen during the 116th Hunger Games. My parents scolded me so badly for that, but I still remember watching the image shrink away and die- and how wonderful that brief happiness had felt.  
I was free of the Hunger Games, even though it was only for a night. The next day my Father had plugged in our spare, smaller television- and we all watched as the female District 2 tribute Celestyn Danuta effortlessly slayed the competition.

I'd give anything to have that feeling come back, only this time forever.

People think that because we're Capitolian, we love the Games. We have to, because we're the reason they're still happening. Hell, we're the reason they started. I don't know whose idea they were- but whoever it was deserves to burn in hell forever, charred and rotten.

...no, I'm not 'emo' or suicidal... but I can admit that Evon Sanhorn is certainly bitter.

Here in this home, with my Mother and Father- and my younger brother Johan- I've been 'mentally abused'. I say this because not once have I ever felt truly loved here. I'm always being reprimanded, scolded- _hated _for something I've done because of my morality.

I'm sick of it.

And today was the final straw. The last chance for my parents to redeem my lifetime of agony, for Johan to realise that they aren't always right- the _last chance _for them to recognise me as the only sane human in this household.

But they didn't.

And I'm leaving.

When I learned of the Quarter Quell reaping, at first I had mixed feelings. Part of me was glad- because it meant that the Capitol might finally see the error of its ways and end this game that has been tearing Panem apart.  
The other part of me was mortified. I don't want to die, and I don't want to watch people I know die. Was this the price that revolution needed?

-either way, I knew change would happen, and I prepared.

The shotgun is heavy in my hands, but it's small enough to hide in my trench coat. I've always detested Dad's collection of guns- but I'd be naive to think that leaving the border separating the Capitol from the outside of Panem would be a walk in the park. Peacekeepers are bound to try and follow me- though there might not be any, there's a _lot _of security needed for reapings- and it'll be easier to frighten them off with firepower.

-Even though I _never _plan to use this thing. Except maybe to hunt, but even then- I probably won't be able to do that. I've never been a good hunter, even recreationally when our family went camping. I know more than enough about foraging though- and that'll be how I'll survive out there until I get to one of the Districts.

...it sounds suicidal, I know- and more than crazy- but that I can willingly admit I am.

Inside the trench coat pocket, now that I've wrapped it snugly around my body, I can feel the shotgun bumping slightly against the top my knee from inside the pocket. I'm a little on the shorter side, so this trench coat is huge on me- but if this isn't something to run away in, I don't know what is.

I'll be honest in saying that I have no idea what I'll do if I'm caught, but I really don't believe life can get much worse from this. At least if I was beaten or properly abused I'd have a 'legitimate' reason to legally leave my family behind.  
Part of me actually feels like I can do this though. Leave and not be caught, succeeding in escaping to the outside world. It sounds insane, gut as I said- I am a little crazy.

I wonder how long it'll take before my family realises that I'm gone? Probably will take a few days knowing them; I've run away multiple times before. Also my sarcasm has led them to not believe pretty much every threat I've ever made.

"It's not like they'll miss me," I grit my teeth, rummaging through my drawer for my savings. "-Not like they're worry-"

It's not like I'm trying to forcibly convince myself of this, more so reminding. Now and again I seem to delude myself that perhaps, deep down, my parents aren't as ignorant and cold as they seem. Though that illusion is always broken the next time we argue- and I'm sick of falling for it.

"Evon!" I feel a prickle in the back of my neck as my Mother's voice shouts from downstairs. "We're leaving the house in half an hour!"

Inhaling as deep as I can, I fixate upon my reflection in the mirror- expelling slowly as my body tries to relax. Clenching and unclenching my fists, I double check that everything is hidden where it should be in my trench coat before I close my eyes and glance towards the window.

"No Mom..." I breathe quietly.

I'm leaving now.

-And I won't be coming back.

**

* * *

**

I hope to heaven almighty that climbing down that awful tree outside my window is the hardest part of today. One of its branches nicked my cheek on the way down- and I was so off guard that when the blood trickled down my face- I fell the remaining four feet and right onto my ass.

-Of course, I'd be more pissed off about all my injuries I've sustained today- if I wasn't so relieved that the gun didn't go off when I smacked into the ground. I'll take have my cheek slit by tree branches over being shot any day.

The grass I land on is thankfully soft and lush, but not so dense that my footprints are imprinted into the lawn. My parents aren't really 'master detectives', but I'd rather not leave an obvious trail behind me.  
-the grass stain on the back of my trench coat isn't helping at all though.

Disappearing into the streets is much easier than I planned, because it turns out 'Sector 10' is pretty well populated. Our home is fairly close to the reaping, so there are early leavers dawdling down our street as they make their way to the street holding the ghastly thing.  
I of course- take the opposite route and walk _away _from where everyone is heading. This coupled with my lumpy trench coat and shifty sunglasses I chose to throw on at the last minute- gather up some rather strange stares.

Perhaps I look more like a sheltering celebrity than a teenage runaway? Well that's _fantastic_, isn't it Evon?

The further away from our street I get, the more the adrenaline begins to pump throughout my body. There are less and less people after about five blocks- I assume they're too lazy to walk to the reaping- but after ten the streets look all but desolate. Every shop is closed, and even though it's midday with the sun beating down- I feel colder than I ever have before in my life.

Knowing the gun is bumping against my leg with each step I take is also terrifying. The thought of using it makes me feel nauseous, but thinking of doing this without any protection at all makes me even more frightened. I'd never shoot someone- but I know how most Capitolites would react with a gun in their face, so I wouldn't have to.

I wonder if my parents know what I've done. It's been about half an hour since I began walking. They're probably howling and screaming at one another for not having enough sense to monitor me. Johan is probably cowering somewhere in the house, secretly pleased that I've caused yet _another _disappointment to our parents.

-it must be nice being Johan. Not being the 'despicable' child of the family.

I manage to keep walking for another solid half hour, and I'm only stopped by one Peace Keeper- who gave me a suspicious look and asked me what I was doing not at the reaping. I quickly explained my parents were two minutes from picking me up- he quickly left behind and carried on his way- not noticing the terrified fifteen year old quicken her pace down an alleyway just to get away from him.

It's only going to get harder from here. My hand instinctively begins to hold onto the handle of Dad's shotgun as the building's shadows seem to grow- even though it's still only midday. Though I'm far away from the reaping street, I can still hear the faint sound of a microphone voice- a low drone- reading what must be the treaty of treason.

Perfect. That thing goes for _years. _That'll give me enough time to not only reach the coast, but to _swim_ the Panemian Ocean from to _anywhere _else.

Adrenaline is all gone now, in its place is nothing but this hollow sort of fear that I don't exactly know what to do with. The shotgun has gotten sweaty in my hand, and I can feel my hair- as short as it may be- sticking and unsticking to the nape of my neck.

I glance at my watch as I wipe the sweat from my forehead, tucking strands of hair behind my ears. It's been almost an hour since I left the house. My heart is pounding- but I'm starting to feel even more empowered. I'm really doing this. I'm really running away from this awful place.

The houses are starting to get bigger and sparser. This is the retirement area of Sector 10, the furthest away from the sky scrapers and massive city halls that you can get without breaking the law and living over the border. Every now and then I jump at the sound of a pet dog barking and snapping at my footsteps that pass their properties- but I keep walking, knowing that to stop now would be to get caught.

"You can do it Evon..." My tongue is dry since I've had to start breathing through my mouth. "It can't be that much further..."

I'm thankful when a cloud- a _beautiful, _thick cloud from nowhere- floats out and blocks the sun from the sky, giving me a moment's relief from its harsh heat. I take a moment to expel my sigh- before I begin to walk again.

"-Miss?"

-I almost fall over. Using my peripherals- and doing my utmost best not to actually turn my head- I see the perpetrator.

It's a peace keeper.

-And he's walking towards me.

I keep walking, not turning to look at him. If I keep walking, perhaps he'll think I'm making my way home early from the reaping- and not think anything of it. My feet begin to pound against the sidewalk as I see him quicken his pace and call out again.

"Miss, could you please stop for a moment-?"

I don't slow down. But my sunglasses slip down the sweat of my nose and I stumble as I try to fix them quickly so he doesn't notice the bloodshot of my eyes.

"Miss-?"

I don't stop.

"-You're Evon Sanhorn-!"

-But then I go stiff.

And it only takes seconds for it all to go wrong.

As I hear the peace keeper shout out his discovery- I go for the gun inside my trench coat. My hands are shaking but my arms lunge for it as he barrels forwards to grab me. Suddenly my body is whirled about- his hands on my shoulders- but I've secured the shotgun with a shaking grip and I'm screaming in his face-

"LET ME GO! I'LL SHOOT! I'LL DO IT-!"

-Then there's a blinding pain- and the two of us fall to the ground. I can't feel my hands, and I can feel this terrifying warmth spreading over my stomach, coating me with a sticky liquid. Still screaming and twisting, I try to push the man's body off mine- but my hands are in blinding pain- he isn't moving- and I can hear the sounds of his partners alerting each other to my presence- as well as a sick sort of gurgling.

Shit. I'm going to be killed aren't I? I just _attacked _a peace keeper-! He's hurt too, he's hurt badly... this substance, it's... it's his blood-! He's bleeding-!

Why did the gun go off? I didn't pull the trigger- I didn't! H-He pushed against me- my hand slipped- it slipped, I didn't mean to pull it! It was an accident! I couldn't see because of the glasses, I... I didn't-!

"-keeper down! Backup, someone call for backup-!"

I've forgotten how to breathe. All there is to do is lie here, thrashing and writhing as my hands seem to burn with agony; the world around growing into a horrible static as the hoarse shouts of the peace keepers overwhelm me.

...it wasn't supposed to... to go like this...

I was going to escape... I was going to be rid of the Hunger Games forever...

...not this...

**

* * *

**

I still can't believe what's happened. It's been almost an hour, and I still can't come to terms with what I've done. Something that's churning inside me tells me that I'll never come to terms with it.

I've killed a man.

The barrel exploded when I was knocked against the trigger. The gun hadn't been used in years- as I had so hopefully suspected when I stole it. But that also meant that my Father hadn't maintained it in a very, _very _long time... so the chamber explosion was inevitable... predictable almost... to everyone except me... and the man I killed...

...he couldn't have seen it coming... he shouldn't have had to...

I hadn't predicted this morning that I would have killed someone by the time the sun set... my stomach won't stop churning in a bubbling mix of horror and guilt.  
That man probably had a family. They'll watch me in the games and pray that I'm carved out by a ruthless tribute- just like I blew out their husband's, their father's stomach...

This morning... wasn't I saying how murder was the worst crime anyone could commit- especially for such pitiful reasons? Haven't I just murdered someone... for no real reason at all...?

...

They've heavily bandaged up my hands, and I can't feel anything but a sort of numbing sensation that is tingling halfway up my forearms. I was much too out of it to understand everything that was said, but I caught pieces of the conversation. Things like 'didn't lose any fingers', and 'probably won't work anymore'... and I'm too scared to ask what they were talking about.

I think I'm meant to be more panicked right now. Frightened. The Quarter Quell has chosen me as one of its victims.

Even if I think as best I can- as optimistically as possible- I can't see myself winning. Not even in my wildest delusions. Especially not now, with my fingers bandaged up beyond repair- and my moral judgement having just taken such a heavy hit.

...

I didn't say goodbye. They came in, all together... but other than that, there are only a few things I can properly recall. I can remember Johan was crying as my parents just sat and stared at me with faces I couldn't read.  
Johan started babbling apologies that I didn't recognise- while my Dad just sat and stared at his ruined gun the Peace Keepers had reluctantly given to him. I could tell from the way my Mother's body was stiff that she was raring to hit me- but held back on the account that Peace Keepers and medical operatives were keeping a close eye on us.

I was thankful when they left, as well as hollow. Deep down, in that part of me that hoped my family was secretly a loving one... that part of me is in pain- knowing that what I knew them as _was _exactly what they were.

Though I can't remember too clearly, I saw the other tribute. He looked a little shaken, even with both his parents supporting him on either side- but I couldn't really taken anything in except that he was bigger than me, with gold curly hair and skin as white as bone.

Cameras tried to follow us into the building, to see the 'one that _almost _got away'. I'm already one of the least favoured to win since I was so weak I couldn't even handle going to the reaping. Right now I can't even remember why I was so determined not to go. I hate the games... but what else from that...?

No one else is visiting me- so I just sit and stare at my bandaged hands. The job was done as thickly as possible, giving my hands the look of giant hands of snow, but there are still patches of blood showing.  
I'm terrified to know what is hiding beneath the surface of the wrappings. I'm certain it's not a gift I want to tear open anytime soon.

...

I want to go home.

My life is never going to be the same again, not with hands damaged beyond repair. So why should they take everything else away from me as well? Why should Evon Sanhorn have to die? Don't they know how long I have suffered to get away from my family, to live the life I've fought for?

...I wanted to be a tattoo artist. My teachers always said I was good with art, and perhaps my designs would outlive me. I never even got to create a design stencil. I was going to do great things with my life; spreading the belief that 'the Games are not the answer'.

I was going to make a difference.

...even if I couldn't do so in my own family... I was going to make a difference to the Capitol. To all of Panem.

To the world.

Now... now I'll do nothing. I'll be killed in the games, and no one will remember me as someone who did their best not to bow down to the Capitol- because I'll die on my knees, at the mercy of the Hunger Games and the Capitol I've grown to hate so much.

...

And it's strange... but right now... I wish I had the shotgun again...

...at least that'd make it easier... to kill all the children standing between me and living...

"...the Games are despicable..."

...

-And so am I.

* * *

**Review. I promise it'll help me update faster. ;D**


	21. S10, Lone Sacrifice

**A Vivid Note: **it's going to be my birthday soon. (October the 28th, in case you're wondering. ;D) I'm going to be _eighteen_, so it'll be my 'last eligible year for reaping'. Haha, it also means that I'm probably not going to ever be invited to Hogwarts. What a shame.  
Be sure to check out the forum for the Capitol Games if you haven't already. I enjoy actually talking to you all, and I'm willing to share my ideas for what this series has in store! (_Since I'm such a slow updater and everything_)

This tribute was created by the ever dazzling and awe-inspiring _Claratrix LeChatham, _and I'm proud to be able to sport a character from her. This may be my low self-confidence, but not one of my best chapters. It's about 300 words shorter than usual, but again- pushing through the block.

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Jasse Harridan; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 10._

Not all fighting is bad you know.

Some people show friendship through sparring and training, or they gain and fight for honour through special matches. In fact- people fight for all kinds of things, such as confidence, self-worth – and even love.

...and then you have the Hunger Games.

I'll admit it; I'm a pretty typical guy when it comes to sports. I share a pretty big interest in movies that revolve around fighting for honour, I've loved any form of martial art ever since I enrolled in that program two years ago, and I've loved running and long jump and all that stuff.  
...but the Hunger Games, to me, has always been a colossal waste of time, effort- and I guess most importantly- 'life'. Yeah, if my friends asked if I watched it, I'd say yes- but to be completely honest I usually stop once the chariots are over.

When the card was read out, the next day a whole batch of guys enrolled into the martial arts program my friend and I have been taking for the past three years. At first we were eager to have more mates to hang out with- until we realised that they weren't doing this for fun. They were training out of fear- so they'd have an edge if they were called up to kill another.

-And that shits me, if you'll excuse my language.

I do martial arts for the exercise, and because being an athlete has been something I've loved for a very long time. But the thought of using it _purely _to kill someone else? That's sort of ruining it for people like me who just want to have fun.

"Do you want any breakfast today?" My Mother peers into my room, her hands clutching the door frame. "Jasse?"

"Not really," My eyes remain fixed on the television screen, not really watching anything in particular. "Thanks anyway."

She leaves without any fuss, but I can tell she'd like to push me into eating something- but my Mom knows better than to badger me about stuff like that. I'm not a huge fan of eating so early in the morning anyway.

Reapings don't usually bother me. That's what I think about as I glance at my blurred reflection in my window. I guess I'm an odd looking sort of fellow. Yeah, the altered bone structure is good for balance and what not- but I have a small, see-through blonde sort of afro, and my skin is paler than anyone else I've ever seen.  
Apparently I look like a singer from centuries ago, but I only heard that from a friend taking Ancient Culture class. Perhaps I should've asked him back when he said it.

-might not ever know now, since the Games could very well kill him. Or me, I suppose- if they call me up to the challenge.

I'd never volunteer. I like trendy things, and liking stuff that everyone else enjoys- but not when I don't think that it's cool myself. That's why I don't love the Hunger Games- also because of what I said before, with it being a huge waste of time. It eats up television time, and lots of places close for the 'Game season'.  
...there are also a lot of deals and sales on, so there's good and bad things that come with the Games. Little things tend to be more expensive, like bread or clothing- but places stock up for the Game season.

"Jasse?"

Mom's back. I look up again, doing my best face that expresses my annoyance and boredom at her interruptions.

"What is it Mom?" I roll off my stomach, sitting up on my bed. "I'm still not hungry."

"Yes yes, I know that," The woman walks briskly into my room, not noticing the frown this brings me. "You need to wear something nice today Jasse, something like a suit or-"

"Mom, a _suit_?" I could gag. "No one else is going to be wearing a suit; I was just going to wear pants and a shirt."

"They'll have to be nice ones," She says curtly, opening the wardrobe and filing through the contents hanging up. "Oh- wear this one-"

She pulls out a bright pink, long sleeved button up shirt. I scrunch up my face, knowing exactly why I had buried it so deeply inside the closet. Those are the kinds of shirts my Mother buys me during 'Game season' sales.

"...I'll be able to dress myself thanks," Standing up, I pull the awful shirt out of her hands and hook it back into the wardrobe. Hopefully I'll never see it again. "Mom, is something wrong- or do you just feel like being annoying today?"

I expect her to frown at me, tell me off for being inconsiderate towards her, but the woman falls silent and fiddles with her empty hands. Ever so slightly, I straighten up in mild surprise.

"Mom?"

"You're not..." She turns to me, an odd smile on her face... one that I don't trust. "You're not going to... volunteer today... are you Jasse?"

For a few seconds I don't know what to say, but perhaps she can tell from the stunned gawk I'm giving her what my answer is plainly about to be.

"No Mom, I'm not," I swing my legs over the side of the bed, just in case she's going to need a hug for reassurance. She looks like she might. "I don't really feel like being killed for sport."

My words were meant to sound reassuring, but I can tell that by the time they hit my Mother- they just sounded daunting. Not only am I funny looking, I'm not good with words either apparently.  
Her expression is still strange. There's a smile, but her eyes keep darting from her feet, to the door, to the window- then to me. It's like she doesn't want to focus too hard on any one thing for too long.

"Ah... see, I told your Father that," Her voice is at an unusually high octave today. "-But he seems to _think _that you might be interested-"

"Hold up Mom," I stand to my feet, holding my hands outstretched. "Time out. You didn't actually believe him did you?"

Guilt spreads across her features. I suddenly remember that my parents aren't aware that I don't enjoy the Games as much as they do each year.

"-I'm not going to, _believe me_," I laugh a little while saying this. "Dying is _not _something I have in mind."

There's another pause for a moment, probably because she wasn't expecting me to deny being a volunteer so profusely. I'm almost hoping I imagine this- because I was expecting her to look relieved when I told her I wasn't going to volunteer... only now she looks disappointed.

"...that's good," She moves towards my door. Perhaps she never cared what I wore in the first place. "...Jasse?"

"Yes Mom?"

Yet another bout of silence overcomes us. Then, her mouth opens again.

"...we'll support you, whatever you choose to do."

...wait, what?

In less than a second, she's gone again. My mouth half open and my hand mid-stretched to where she was standing- I don't know what to say. Turning to the reflection in my mirror, even as blurred as it is, I can see the horror in my eyes.

...they'd support me...?

**

* * *

**

We all walk together to the reaping, after joining together with our next door neighbours. Everyone seems to be banding together for these reapings, as if being in numbers makes us stronger. Almost like we're heading out to attack a common enemy.

"I'm not worried," The Mother of next door says cheerfully. "What are the odds, really? Someone might volunteer after all-"

It's too difficult to listen to these adults try and convince one another everything will be fine. I find it excruciatingly painful even, hearing them try to delude themselves that as long as they're not affected by today- everything will be fine.

-because deep down, I think I'm sort of hoping the same thing.

We don't have to walk for long. After fifteen minutes I feel my body stiffen upon seeing the chosen street for the reaping packed to bursting with everyone in the Sector area. I had no idea so many people even lived here in the suburban part of the Capitol. I guess a good many of them come from the small part of the Sector that resides in the inner city circle.

"We'll find you when it's all over, okay Jasse?" My Father pats my afro, scruffing it up to the scalp with his fingers, much to my displeasure. "You prepared for this?"

There's some sort of spark in his eye that I think I can label as his pride for me. Sort of wish I had a brother right now to help shoulder this weight Dad's laid on me.

"Yeah," Nothing else to say really. I shrug. "See you."

I'm usually more talkative then this, but my parents will see it as nerves. Not that I care at all, they could see it as a stomach bug or a massive headache- it means the same thing in the end really. I don't feel like talking.

Once my name is marked off, I disappear into the shadows of the other fifteen year old guys. No one takes any notice of me, and hardly anyone is speaking to one another anyway. They're just staring up at the stage with mixed expressions. Some are worried, others excited- and one or two looks like they've been punched in the gut.

Here's hoping I look more worried than excited or hurt.

Minutes of my silence pass, trying to listen to the unintelligible voices around me- all chattering about worries or excitement of what's about to come- before the mayor steps up, demanding quiet for the reading of the treaty of treason. Barely anyone acknowledges this- and the man is forced to read the long speech without anyone really listening.

...why is he reading that anyway? I close my eyes as the sun begins to glare into my corneas. It makes no sense to read out why we're punishing the Districts when we're the Capitol- unless he wants us to see the irony of the situation.  
Haha. Yay, irony. Thanks Mister Mayor, for showing us that. Move on already.

What feels like hours pass before the reapings move again. I know the treaty could've only gone for fifteen minutes- tops- it feels like longer. By the time the flat-chested but flouncy escort bounces out on stage- I'm actually feeling a little relieved that this waste of time is speeding along.

"Sector 10, thank you for letting me be your guide today!" With a curtsy, the woman blows a kiss to the crowd. "I am Rimi, and I am very proud to be given this honour!"

Rimi sounds like a stupid to me. Then again, I have people calling me 'Jessie', so I guess there are worse names out there.

"Let's all work hard to make this the best Quarter Quell Panem has ever seen!" Rimi flicks her pale pink hair, shaking it with a flourish even though it doesn't move at all. Overdone with hairspray I guess. "Now without further nonsense, let's find out our lucky girl- let's go!"

I think it's a requirement for escorts to be hyped up on stage. Though it'd be naive to say Rimi was having a sugar high. If anything, it seems like our Sector 10 escort is doing speed.

"Here we go, I'm reaching in~"

Oh lord and she's narrating. Somewhere in the crowd- a boy snickers.

Rimi takes a not so subtle peek at the name before mocking an expression of surprise. The entire female side of the crowd has fallen silent with dread as the escort tiptoes up to the podium, smooths out the paper, examines a nail, clears her throat- and then finally announces the name-

"Evon Sanhorn!"

Vaguely, I know the name. She must be a girl in my year, but she doesn't take any of my classes. I stand in my place, trying to remember what this girl looks like as Rimi cries over and over again for 'Evon Sanhorn' to come up to the stage.

But no one moves up to the stage. The guys standing around me are all shrugging at one another- pointing to the girl's fifteens section which is being combed through by a multitude of angry looking peace keepers. The poor starch haired escort Rimi falls silent after about three minutes- and another five minutes pass before a peace keeper signals for her to go on with the reaping.

"U-Uh... Evon is currently unavailable... but we are holding the position..." What? I don't understand how that works. What if she's dead? "Do we have any volunteers?"

There's laughter somewhere, and angry whispering somewhere else. I catch a nearby guy's gaze, and when he mouths a question at me- all I can do is shrug. I don't know what's going on, and I'm not about to pretend I do.  
No one is volunteering, and it's not like you can blame them. Some girl who couldn't even be bothered showing up is going to bear the brunt of these Games for them. How can they feel bad when they can't even see her?

It's plain to see that Rimi wasn't expecting this, so when she goes for the boy's reaping ball- she doesn't narrate or do any theatrics to aid the drawing. Instead, she pulls the name- taking extra time to do so- and walks up to the stage and briskly as possible.

And as she opens her mouth- panic finally hits me.

What if it's-?

"Jasse Harridan!"

...

No way.

Without even trying to hold back, I swear loudly.

-At least there's no mistake that Jasse Harridan is here in the crowd.

**

* * *

**

All I want to say is 'there you have it folks, we all know how Jasse Harridan is going to die.'

-except now I know that no- I don't know how I'm going to die. In the last half hour, my death has just had a whole range of opportunities opened up to it. I could starve to death, fall to my death, be torn apart by wild animals or other tributes- stabbed, kicked, punched, bitten or shredded into an infinite number of pieces- only to be stitched back together and sent home to my parents.

Our goodbye isn't sweet. It isn't even memorable to me, even though I'm trying my best to grasp to something, _anything _to remember as I'm being shipped off to what I'm begging isn't my inevitable demise. I've never enjoyed the Games- the killing one another- and yet now I'm being pushed into it for someone else's enjoyment.

Dad says something about having faith in me, while my Mother tries to remind me what she had said earlier, only I can't remember anything that was said earlier. Just my name. That was all that was said. My name and 'congratulations'.

Congratulations Jasse. You're dead. You're bloody dead.

They found Evon Sanhorn. She came in shortly after I did, with her hands bandaged up and blood dribbling down her wrists. I almost gagged at the sight of her, all sweaty from the hot sun outside- with blood curdling across her skin. All over her front is the rusty color of dried blood- and something that looks an awful lot like piss.  
-I wish I didn't find out what it was, but Dad explained it before I could look away.

She shot a peace keeper in the stomach. The drying yellow stuff eating away at her clothes is stomach acid.

-Only, she didn't shoot him, the gun apparently exploded- my Father had so bluntly told me. Blew up her hands as well, apparently burning them to the third degree- and little bits of shrapnel lodged itself inside the bones and joints.

"She won't be any competition for you then son. Isn't that good news?"

Evon was always the kind of girl everyone overlooked, including me. I never cared too much for her, since we didn't run in the same circles- and she was always sort of high and mighty. No one likes hanging around people like that. The more popular people of the year group would call them 'moral whores', because they'd push their beliefs on you until you bought it yourself.

-I'm not saying I agree with them, but she was pretty... stubborn. Not so much right now, since she looks catatonic and her eyes were glazed over when she looked at me. She probably couldn't even recognise me- what with her worrying over her useless hands.

The strangest feeling I'm holding right now is that I'm more thankful that I'm going into this with both my hands then I am about being able to say goodbye to my parents. Though neither of them is crying- and they're both gushing with what seems to be confidence in me- I can't bring myself to care about it. I'm terrified yet unable to comprehend _what _I'm supposed to be feeling right now.

"We love you son, yeah?" I turn, seeing my Father wrap an arm around me. "You'll do great Jasse. You'll do great."

"...thanks."

I can hear apologies in the tent next to us. Part of me suddenly wishes I was receiving apologies instead of encouragement.

"We'll sponsor you sweetie."

"...thanks."

I don't want this. Staring at my hands, I try to imagine the pain of having a gun explode between them. All I feel is an odd, daunting sort of tingle.  
I don't want my parent's 'support'. Why am I here again? I don't understand. They call my name and I have to die? That's not fair. Why can't I just change my name and some other boy can go to his death...?

...I'm not taking this as gracefully as I'd prefer I would- but it's impossible to fake what I clearly don't have. Grace. I don't even care if I have an edge because I take mixed martial arts. What good will it do me? I don't have the guts to kill anyone.

The peace keeper comes in, and I'm stuck again feeling nothing as my parents are taken from the room. What's wrong with me? My Mother has tears in the corners of her eyes as she reaches to me- blowing a kiss before disappearing forever behind the curtain.

"Good luck Jasse."

As her voice disappears- and so do their footsteps- I embrace the quiet of this hall and the two tents. Evon's tent has also fallen to the quiet, with no sounds of tears or even breathing passing into my own.

...well, here we are Panem.

Here are Sector 10's sacrifices to your entertainment god, 'the Hunger Games'. May our deaths bring you good luck or crops or whatever the hell you're going to gain from this.

"...you support me... haa..."

I breathe deeply. Closing my eyes, I see my Mother's twitchy smile from this morning, the one that I couldn't read for the life of me.

I understand it now.

She wanted this to happen. For her only son to go into the games, survive through it and come out a victor. Maybe then all those years of supporting him through his athletics will have amounted to something- something more than trophies and plaques.

...she supports me. They _support _me...?

...

"Damn it..."

They can take back their support. They can take their sponsor money and stick it where the sun doesn't shine.

Screw their support.

-it's not like it'd do any good anyway.

* * *

**Review, if you'd be so kind and you have the fingers. x**


	22. S11, Noble Defender

**A Vivid Note: **we have three more to go after this one. _Three._ I'm positively beaming right now. If only I drank champagne- I'd crack a bottle open and pre-emptively celebrate. Sadly, the only thing I'm drinking right now is milk- so I suppose that'll have to do.  
Now that we're on the home stretch, help me out by continuing with the wonderful support. You've been the greatest readers I could've ever hoped for- and we haven't even gotten into the arena yet!

Thank you goes to _Kathlyn Spencer _for creating this tribute, and we all wish her- along with every other tribute in this game- the best of luck. They're all going to need it.

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Cotton Valamine Ferier; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 11._

I wake up to Fuzzy Paws sitting on my chest, his yellow eyes staring at me expectantly. The cat gives me such a fright that I bolt upright and the poor thing falls backwards onto my bedspread with a loud yowling noise.

"I'm sorry, but you shouldn't sleep on me!" I reach out and flatten his ears, shaking my head. "You're a stupid cat, you know that?"

With a purr, I'm forgiven. Quickly getting up, I feel my head slowly disperse the blurring sensation sleep gives me- reminding me of what today is. Why I've been simultaneously dreading and looking forward to this day all comes rushing back to me, making the expression on my face feel even stiffer than it usually does.

Reaping day. A Capitol first, and I get to experience it firsthand as a potential tribute candidate.

_Hooray._

First things first; I need to brush my teeth.

Padding out of my room and into the bathroom that joins my room with Ribbon's, I shiver slightly at the cold tiles that meet my toes. Since it's only about seven in the morning, the odds of her being awake right now are slim to nothing- so I'm willing to risk taking up the bathroom without asking her first. I waste no time in locking both the doors before I begin my morning routine.

Ugh. My hair has become a complete mess during the short time I was asleep. All the wiry strands of color are jutting out in awkward angles- and the addition of extensions hasn't helped. Originally I thought getting a rainbow of hair colours would make me look more... bright. My friends keep telling me how I'm too serious sometimes, which I don't think is true at all since I'm also being told by adults that I'm an airhead- so I do things like get tattoos and hair extensions to make me more fun.

Scrubbing vigorously, I snarl my teeth at the mirror in a playful sort of way- inspecting my pearly whites in case of any where I might have missed. Once I'm sure- I ungracefully spit all the blue foam back into the basin before coming back up smacking my lips.

Right; now onto washing my face.

Tying back my hair- my still sleeping mind slowly begins to wake up as I splash the cold water against my cheeks. I can't believe that today is really here, after so many days of forgetting that it was coming. Usually on this day I don't even bother watching- because tributes don't really shine until they get to the arena anyway- but today I _have _to watch because... well I'm going to _be _there.

Let's get one thing straight right now; I like the Games. Yes, they're completely barbaric and murder is wrong- and true I do feel bad for the kids who have no chance- which is why I'm an avid supporter of raising the age limit up one, meaning that twelve year olds would be safe and nineteen year olds would suffer instead. I mean, twelve year olds can't fight for anything- what's the point?

I watch for the attractive ones. The hunks, the brooding masculine types that usually hail from Districts 1 and 2- though occasionally you get nice looking cow-herders from District 10. My friends and I usually sponsor the hottest one, and then when he dies- which sadly happens a lot- we move to the next hottest.  
It sounds unfair, sure, but think of it as battle of the fittest. 'Darwinism' as Katerina would say. She's always coming out with smart things like that.

This year will be interesting, because most guys from the Capitol are good looking- and it'll be hard to choose. Also, it'll be hard to watch since we might actually _know _the tribute going into the arena. Part of me is quite sure, and sort of hoping, that won't be the case though.

Once I'm all scrubbed up- I let my hair fall back around my shoulders before I slide open the drawer, fishing for my false eyelashes. I pick out my largest pair, the ones with lashes that sweep up so high they touch my neatly tweezed eyebrow, and I slowly begin to carefully glue them in place.

"-Cotton? Is that you in there?"

The door rattles a little as who I believe is Katerina begins to rap on the other side. Frowning a little without really meaning to, I don't bother to look up from the busy process of fixing my lashes.

"Yes, I'm busy."

"-Cotton, can you come out and feed the dogs please?" Katerina's voice is sort of pitched, like she's only _just _woken up. "I have to use the bathroom."

"Use your own bloody bathroom," I call back curtly, still not budging. I begin to dab equaliser over my skin. "This is Ribbon's and my bathroom."

"I can't- Glitz is in there and she won't come out," I suddenly hear her voice break. "_Please_? I really need to pee-"

This is why parents should never expect their four daughters to share bathrooms together. All I wanted for my last birthday was my own bathroom- and all I got was... well I got a rather nice sewing machine actually, but the bathroom would've been more practical.

"Cotton? Cotton _please _get out of there-!"

"Fine~!" I sing back, dropping the pot of crème foundation into the drawer and closing it with a snap. "Just put the toilet seat down when you're done."

My humour isn't at all appreciated, judging from the furious expression on my sister's face when I open the door. But she disappears too quickly into the bathroom for me to worry- so I decide that, while I'm all made up and ready to get dressed- I should go feed the dogs.

-I'd rather get tinned meat slopped down my pyjamas than any of my dresses thanks.

We've got a big family, and a lot of pets. Fuzzy Paws, our fluffy black and white cat is sort of my pet- because he only hangs around in my room. Glitz also has a hamster named Fluff Bucket. There are three dogs, Moose, Digger and Blaze- but originally only Moose was our dog, at least, before Mom remarried. To 'Volt'. Now, he's not a terrible guy- I just say that name with disdain because... come on, it's a terrible name.

When he moved in, us four sisters suddenly had two brothers- Walker and Taz. Walker is seventeen and a bit of a dolt, while Taz is only thirteen and he's alright, I guess. The three of us don't talk that much unless one of us is looking for something in this teeny house of ours.

Yeah, yeah- it's bigger than District homes are- or 'commission homes' that are further towards the border of the Capitol- but compared to all my friends houses? _Teensy weensy_ in comparison. None of my friends have to share their bathroom. None. And one of them even has eleven brothers and sisters.

The moment I reach the kitchen- I can already hear a pair of paws squeaking at the back door- begging to be let in. Rolling my eyes, I take care to step away as the larger dogs, Digger and Moose- come trampling into the house with tails whipping behind them at poor Blaze, who stumbles in after them looking slightly dazed.

"Hungry boys?" I smirk, pulling the tin out of the fridge, carefully peeling back the plastic wrap. "Right... not a big day for you now is it...?"

I could almost envy these dogs. Perhaps not Blaze, who has always been the runt of the litter- no matter what litter he was placed in- but Moose and Digger have a good life. They amble about the backyard with their tongues askew and their fur covered with muck and filth- and they don't care. Why should they? They're only animals after all.

Once the bowls are set on the floor, I waste no time leaving the kitchen before the lapping dogs start making a mess that I'd be stuck with cleaning. As far as my feminine ways go- I hate chores. They make me feel ordinary, which is not something I'm okay with.

Something peculiar strikes me as I walk past the doorway to Katerina's room however. My older sister, in her rush to secure my bathroom- left her own door ajar. Usually I wouldn't stoop to snooping through a sister's room- particularly one as boring as Katerina- but I can hear something coming from the bathroom.

-the sound of someone crying.

I hesitate. That's Glitz in there, since Katerina said she stole the bathroom so early. But why is she crying? Did something happen? She sometimes has fights with Taz- so maybe...

...I don't go in.

I think about it for a few moments, but as the crying begins to go up and down- I don't really know what I'd do if I _did _go in there. Force her to tell me what's wrong? I've never been any good at cheering people up- since I'm usually pretty blunt- I'd probably only make the situation worse for her...

Slowly, and a little painfully- I leave the door as I left it. Slightly ajar to the tears coming from deep inside my little sister.

And hopefully I can leave it there.

**

* * *

**

My family really looks good when we go all out. I know that's sort of 'up myself' to say that, but it's just the truth. All of us are quite good looking, and I'm certainly aware of it.  
When we left the house, everyone seemed in good shape- so I haven't bothered to bring up what i heard to anyone. I figured it would only dampen everyone's good mood- and I would like this reaping to be a pleasant one.

The dress looks quite good, considering I sort of pre-bought it for the occasion. It's basically a plain white form-fitting dress with a control panel over my stomach- I'm a cheerleader, so most of my stuff has control panels by default- with multi coloured tinsel streamers flowing from the top. They fan out when I walk- and I don't know how they do this with so little needlework, I'll have to find out- but they all seem to join together.

-I have a knack for good clothes. Comes with the territory of being a girl like me. I guess.

"You all know where we're meeting each other, don't you?" Mom asks; that telltale concerned look giving away her paranoia. "Glitz, Taz? Don't you?"

"Yes Mom." The pair chorus, sounding almost bored.

Ribbon looks at me out the corner of her violet eye, smirking slightly as I try not to smile back. We _never _go out as a family any more- so it's been a while since we've had moments like this that weren't forced over the dinner table.

Taz and Walker split off from the rest of us quite quickly after our names are marked off- but I take a moment to hover back as Katerina begins to fret that her dress is discoloured around her underarms. In the midst of my silent gloating- I'm surprised when Glitz's delicate hand pulls on my arm.

"Um, Cotton...?" Her meek voice fills me with an odd guilt. "...are you... are you worried?"

"...why?" I look down at her, tilting my head ever so slightly. "-Are you?"

She doesn't answer me. I'm being a bit harsh with this line of questioning, but I don't really want her to think of me as an arrogant girl or a cowardly sister. Either way- I lose.

"Look... don't worry about this, okay?" I reach forwards, patting her cheek lightly with my perfectly manicured hand. "You won't get picked. Trust me."

Glitz has this look conflicted look that tells me that she wants to believe her older sister- but better judgement is still causing her to worry. However when I see the Mayor starting to step up to the podium, his little palm cards in his hand- I simply pat her on the cheek again and hurry off.

My dress doesn't retain its glittering presence here- squashed up against every girl I've ever known. The sun is glinting in my eyes though, so as the Mayor starts saying how he's going to read a 'summarised' version of the Treaty of Treason- I'm already begging that he'll just skip the whole thing.

I feel a little bad for treating my little sister's worries so blankly- but I don't really want to focus on them for that long. If I do- I'm going to start having second thoughts about being so calm today, and that's _really _not something I want to do.  
See, this is a lot like the cliques at school. Once I got into the best, most popular group eligible- I sort of blocked out of my mind all that I'd seen to get there. All the unhappy girls, depressed, suicidal, anorexic- I just blotted them all out so I could enjoy my rewards. If I focus on their unhappiness too long- I feel guilty.  
Just like these Games, if I worry too much- later I'm going to remember how badly I worried and I'll feel too awful for the tributes to be able to sponsor one and join in on the fun. That's why I can't focus on it too hard. I can't.

"-And now, let's welcome our Sector escort Boo-" The dark haired man squints at the card. "...yes, that's her name- Boo!"

From under the stage, there's a giggling sort of cackle- and up jumps the sheet cloaked escort, much to the surprise, delight and horror of the eighteen year olds packed around the stage. I openly gawk at her as the woman throws away the white sheet, letting it lay on the stage floor as she ruffles her spiked white hair.  
Grabbing the microphone, Boo flashes an amazing set of shining white teeth as she begins to jump about in the middle of the stage.

"Hel_lo _everyone in Sector 11, I'm your escort- Boo!" With a wink, she sticks a hand on her hip and poses. "Now it's time for us to pick out our lucky boy and girl! Should I say ladies first?"

It's not really a question- and not even a noise is made from the entire Capitol audience. We're used to presentations like this at concerts or shows- but right now no one is in the frame of mind to start cheering for this rock star wannabe.

"Let's have a change of pace and pick the _boy_'s name first... hope he's cute!"

Okay, I do want to gag- but part of me can't because she's actually pretty funny... for an escort anyway.

Instead of just dipping her hand in, she picks the bowl right up and holds it up, fishing around inside deep- and finally grabbing out one piece of paper. As Boo places the ball back down- almost all of the girls lean forward expectantly as the entire side of guys holds their breath.

"And the winner is-" Boo unravels the paper, and flashes her grin again. "Vince Bryant Pace!"

Winner? Whoever Vince is, he's dead.

All of Sector 11 holds their breath as the 'lucky winner' walks down the aisle in the centre of the crowd to his place on stage. He's a small kid, Vince- and the way his arms are shaking you can guess that he wasn't expecting this to happen today. Once he gets there- the sun sort of illuminates his features- showing off a giant pair of bright green eyes, just threatening to burst into tears.

"Great work Vincent!" Boo smiles, probably not knowing whether or not Vince was short for anything. "Now, our lucky female tribute is-"

Much to my surprise- and several girls around me judging by their gasps and cries- Boo whips the female reaping ball out of nowhere. She takes a lot less time with this one- pulling out the name, shaking her hair one last time and then crying out-

"Glitz Ferier!"

-and the sky falls down on me.

What? Glitz can't be a tribute. She's only what- thirteen? Oh god, she hasn't even turned thirteen yet- she's only twelve! You can't send a twelve year old into the games! Not my twelve year old sister-!

Legs trembling- she tries to walk towards the stage. I can hear Mom somewhere far off, moaning for the unfairness of it all. My body begins to shake as my mouth opens and closes itself wordlessly. Glitz stands on the stage next to the blue haired boy- and tears begin to dribble down her face and catch in her purple hair.  
Boo looks delighted. She holds the microphone up again.

"Congratulations- Vince and Glitz, our Sector-!"

"NO!"

Girls shoot away from me as the shriek escapes. To my surprise- I shove four girls from my year out of the way as I storm into the aisle- staring up at Boo who is looking at me stunned.

"Ask for tributes you twit!" I practically spit the words at her. "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

"I... I see-" Boo's grin quivers a little. Wasn't expecting this I'm guessing. "Well please come up here Miss-"

"Cotton. Cotton Valamine Ferier!"

I don't even move towards the stage. From the aisle in the very middle of this street- with everyone staring at me from all sides- I bunch up my fists and scream as loud as I can, hoping that my Mother, my sisters- this _stupid _escort, that blue haired kid- and Glitz- that they all hear me when I say-

"-and I'm going to win these games!"

**

* * *

**

Things like this don't usually happen to girls like me. Girls like me are meant to grow up, get married to rich, handsome men, have loads of kids and live relatively happy ever after.

-That's meant to be me, living one of those candid, happily lives that don't make sense.

This just doesn't plain old doesn't make sense... particularly since I apparently chose this for myself.

Everyone's crying over me like I'm already dead- which I suppose is pretty easy to assume, since I haven't said a word since I cried out that I was going to win- reassuring her that she wouldn't be picked. I probably wouldn't have said anything if I knew that she _was_.

As I sit here in this tent, barely any room left to breathe will all five of my siblings and my Mother and Step-Father packed inside with me. I'm almost a little relieved that I haven't seen my father for so long- because with him the total would've been nine altogether in this tent.

Sort of feeling a bit claustrophobic, honestly.

Everyone's sort of torn between thanking me for saving Glitz- and reprimanding me for putting my own life in her stead. Apparently I appeared noble or something for volunteering- but that's not why I did it at all.  
I ignored her when she was crying. That was strike one. I then blew off her worries before the reapings. That was strike two. Then she was reaped.

-that was strike three.

I was a terrible sister. I had to make things right.

"-make strong alliances," Walker is advising sternly, his voice no higher than a whisper. "Not this kid. He's too young. Get a career sort of pack going."

Nodding, I hug the person closest to me- Mom. She still has tears on her face from when Glitz was on stage- but I guess there's no point wiping them when one daughter switched to another. Though I'd like to think I have a better chance of surviving these Games then Glitz did.

"Do you know what you're going to do Cotton?" Ribbon asks me, sitting down. "How you're going to survive?"

"I've got ideas," That all I can really come up with right now. And it's a lie. "You know."

I think all of them _don't _know- but they don't have the heart to berate me now. This could be the last time they ever see me after all.

"I love you Cotton-" Glitz hugs me tightly, her chin resting on my shoulder. "Thank you... I'm so sorry..."

"Don't be sorry, it wasn't your fault." I rub her back reassuringly, before raising my voice as loud as I can. "It was that _stupid escort Boo!_"

She's out there, somewhere. I hope she heard me.

"We're going to sponsor you Cotton," My Stepfather Volt has finally decided to make a noise. "Don't worry. We'll make sure you're okay."

As much as I appreciate the idea- somehow I don't think throwing money at whoever my mentor is going to be will stop some kid from trying to knife me. But I smile all the same.

"Thanks Volt."

We're quiet for a moment. Though there's noise from the thoroughfare outside- and voices from the tent beside us- the Ferier family is finally at a loss for words as I slowly smile at the lot of them.

...I'm glad I had a family like this. A big family who cares about each other.

It means that when I go into that arena-

I have a reason to come out.

* * *

**Review please. :D I'd really appreciate the effort!**


	23. S11, Young Surprise

**A Vivid Note: **Two more tributes after this and we're _done_. Thank the sweet heavens.

As always, remember we have a forum to talk about whatever you'd like to talk about- and I'm always up for something to chat about. Particularly now that we're so close to finishing the Reapings!  
Also, I'd suggest catching up on feedback- because when I implement the sponsoring system, it'll be review based- so reviews equal points you can spend. Don't forget that now! (Details in the forum, I'll post full details here on Chapter 25)

Let us all give thanks to _Abby Hale is Team Salvadore _for entering in this tribute. He's the youngest, aside from Liotta- and I quite like this kid. You'll see why after reading... there's a lot to him... and you'll be stunned. Haha.

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Vince Bryant Pace; 12 years; the Capitol Sector 11._

Being twelve sucks- it's nowhere near as easy as it was being eleven.

I thought life was only going to get better as the years went on, what with me getting smarter, people finally treating me like an adult. I know that I'm not even classed as a 'young adult' yet- but give me break already with all this 'you're too young to understand' crap. I'm young, not an idiot.

The Quell is pissing me off. My Mother won't stop sobbing; Janie keeps taunting me that if I'm not a good boy I'll be reaped, Peter hasn't spoken since the card was read out- and Bliss doesn't know what heck is going on because everyone refuses to talk about it.  
It didn't help that I tried asking again about Dad dying- because that just made Mom break down into hysterics that I'm 'too young to understand'.

Like I said- I've had enough of being 'too young to understand'. I think they're too old to understand that I'm a hell of a lot smarter than they're willing to give me credit for.

All dressed up for the reaping, I think I look pretty mature. Yeah, I'm still on the short side- and my wrists and knees are all knobbly looking- which is why I'm wearing a long sleeve shirt and jeans- but I think people should be able to tell I'm smart despite the 'childlike qualities'. My eyes certainly don't help- what with those huge eyelashes I was cursed with from Mother, and green eyes from a Father I barely remember.

Okay Vince. Today is going to be a pain. 'Mandatory' things are always a pain. Just smile blithely and act like the stupid little kid they all believe you to be. Keep the idiots happy.

"...how boring..."

I guess I'm to blame for how people treat me. Sure, I like to believe that my maturity is apparent to everyone- but how can it be? My face only ever shows a sweet, shy smile. I twinge my hands and do my best to shuffle my feet in that cute, awkward manner that makes my Mother's friends croon with delight. Not once have I shouted or reprimanded someone about how I truly feel.

-at least, no one... older than me.

Peter lets out a low whistle from his nostrils. I can't help but snort out of amusement from how heavily my little brother can sleep. He's only ten- but Peter isn't at all like me. There's no hidden underneath to his personality. My little brother really is_ just_ a little brother.

I really don't enjoy sharing a room with him though.

When I look down at him, I spare a few minutes considering my tactics before I act on them. Slowly and carefully reaching out- I pinch my thumb and forefinger over his nostrils- a maniacal grin spreading across my lips as Peter's eyes shoot open in horror.

"VINCE!" He throws my arm away, thrashing about on his bed for a moment as I burst into laughter. "That's not funny! You could've killed me you jerk-!"

"Aw, is little Peter bunny sleepy still?" I coo, narrowing my eyes at the furious little boy. "Don't be like that, you have to get up- remember, it's reaping day. Very exciting!"

"I don't think I'll like these Games..." Peter mutter sourly, rubbing his nose. "Watching District kids is different to watching people you know..."

Not really. They're all the same when you get right down to it- the only difference is that we live in the lap of luxury and they have the benefit of being able to complain. And they even take _that _for granted. Ha.

"Get up anyway bunny," I grab one of his pillows, throwing it at his head before I head towards the door. "I'm sure Mom's crying over the stove making us breakfast since she's so sure we're all dying today."

"Don't joke about that-!"

I do my best not to snort again as I close the door behind me. Peter is the only person I show my true colours to- and is also my only outlet. Yeah, I can be a bit cruel at times- particularly with calling him bunny, since that used to be his favourite animal until we both saw that dead one on the road- but aside from Janie, he's the most frustrating sibling of this family. He was four when Dad died, and didn't really bat an eyelid when it happened.

-Perhaps I'm a little jealous of him too- what with everyone commenting 'you look _just _like your Father' all the time. Sort of makes me ache inside. I'm the eldest son, so I'm supposed to be the one to take after Dad. Not _Peter_- who openly says he can't remember a thing about the man.

Bliss is awake when I pass her room. She and Janie share a room, though Janie has been complaining for the past four years about that- when Bliss moved in with her at the age of five. I don't see what she's complaining about- since the little girl is usually lost in daydreams and doesn't ever make any noise.  
I think she's just a bit jealous since all her friends have their own rooms. Plus she's been trying to bring boys home lately- and Mom hasn't been too keen about that with Bliss in the room.

I only peer in through my peripherals- but I can see that Bliss is already dressed for the reaping, and is lying on her stomach reading a book. The wardrobe door is open- and I can assume that Janie is bustling about in there for something ludicrous to wear.  
Let it be known that I don't like Janie. She treats me more like a baby than Mom does, and I'll never be okay with that. At least Mom has a Freudian excuse on her side- Janie's just a dolt.

Out of our whole family, I think I enjoy Bliss' company the most. Ever since she was young, and was a proclaimed a 'child genius' by doctors- I've liked her best out of our family. Somehow, without me needing to express it- she knows I'm smarter than I let on. She treats me sort of like you would a Father I guess, always asking my opinion before she goes and does something.  
I appreciate that. Janie just thinks she's slow.

Ironic.

"Vince?"

Before I can turn the corner into our living room, Bliss pokes her head out of the door. I lean back around the corner and raise an eyebrow.

"What is it?" My voice is as sweet as it's trained to be, but my expression doesn't meet it as it usually would. I can feel the boredom sliding off my face.

"-Mom already left, she told Janie that she wants us to go in about three hours," She looks back- no doubt confirming this through the dolt. "Yeah- three hours. Is that okay?"

"Of course that's fine," Judging from the pitch, you'd think I was smiling. However my brittle expression doesn't faze Bliss in the slightest. Like I said- she knows who I am. "Tell me when we're heading out."

"Okay."

With that, her black curls pop out of sight again, and I resume my trajectory towards the living room- where I plunk myself down on the plush lounge- staring at the blank television I can't be bothered turning on.

About five o'clock, the reapings will be on television for all to see. I'm looking forward to them a little, as well as dreading how my Mother is going to sob and scorn at every small child and bulky tribute that walks up those little wooden steps set up in town.  
I've already taken a look of course. There are banners flying everywhere, celebrating the 'Capitol's First'. It's not surprising, but there are a lot of people looking forward to these Games.

The only thing about this Quarter Quell that bothers me is the way it's making my family react. Also it'll be a fairly boring Quell- no Capitol kid could fight like a District kid could- so I won't be enjoying it as much.

That's what I love about the Games. The strategies, the alliances- the well articulated murders. Every year you get that one person, usually the winner, who somehow weaves their way around everyone else- killing and lying until they come out, glittering on top.

-And each year I watch them smugly, because I can always pick them out, right at the beginning. Always. For the past six years in fact.

Since Dad died.

Turning on the television, I'm faced with a recapture of all the past victors who will be mentoring this year. I've watched years of back to back Games just so I can recognise them all. As each face and video reel flashes past, I can remember their final moments as though I had tapes of their games playing in my mind-

District 1 is being mentored by the career Antony, winner of the 123rd Games. His smile stretches from ear to ear- images of the eighteen year old male digging the tip of his blade into the throat of the District 2 male career, blood spraying against his crooked teeth still as fresh today as they were then.

Ah and District 2, mentored by Mars- now much older in the years. I remember watching the highlight reel- seeing as his young expressionless face thrusted that spear into so many tributes before finally being declared the winner of 113th Games.

And in memory of the 117th Games- Juan from District 4 whirls the make-shift trident made of bones over his head, roaring words unheard as he skewers the poor girl from seven in the back- ignoring her screams as it splinters against her spine-

-Sienna from six shrieks in agony as with extreme difficulty she lets the arrow fly through the air- piercing the cheek of the career girl who falls to the ground writhing-

-the ever beautiful District 7 Eden grips the axe, standing above the exhausted boy from twelve, not clenching her eyes as she swings it above his head-

-District 11 shows the plain Moyna- now reaching fifty- cowering in her malnourishment as her final competitor succumbs to their starvation on the forest ground-

...

They all won in different ways, some similar- but all unique in their own right, because the deaths were by _their _choices. I can't help but marvel at that, the idea of knowing that someone's death is based on your own decisions- your choice to live.

The only death I know of... I don't even know how it happened.

Perhaps my gift of picking a winner is because of my Father's death, but to be honest... I'd rather have my Father here, sitting on the couch beside me- telling me what he thinks about all this.

"-_Let's hope that with their guidance, our tributes will stand a chance in whatever the Quell's arena has to offer them-_"

...

...yeah right. I snort again, trying my best not to laugh and draw attention to my siblings of my true nature and its cruelty.

Whoever the tributes are this year- they're all dead. I don't know of anyone in this Capitol who stands a chance against someone who's actually willing to kill. Someone like these mentors- or even someone like me.

...it's a good thing that the odds are _very _much in their favour that I won't be reaped.

Lucky them.

**

* * *

**

"Want me to stand with you Vince-y?" Janie teases as I watch the marker sign off my name. "Do you need me to hold your hand when they call out the names?"

"Janie." Bliss looks at her with reproachful eyes. "Don't."

Were I able to show my stronger side to my elder sister, Bliss wouldn't need to stand up for me. However to do that- I'd be forced to break my facade, and destroy my efforts to make my family realise their mistakes on their own. Janie peels away from me, annoyed- as Peter shuffles awkwardly after me to mark off his own name.

Mom is already in the crowd, where Peter and Bliss will have to find her themselves. Neither Janie and I haven't shown any sort of worry or panic about being chosen- nor can I blame her much. The odds of being chosen are slim to nil- so worrying would just be a waste of time and effort- and Janie's so stretched out remembering how to breathe, I can't blame her.

"Good luck guys," Peter mumbles, visibly paranoid of what's to come. "We'll uh... be rooting for you."

Idiot. I'm glad that Bliss just looks at me blankly and nods, silently knowing that I'd resent any words had she wanted to give any. The moment they're metres away however, Janie's slur of a grin is back- and she leans in close to whisper-

"Don't want you to become _Vince_-meat, now do we?"

I barely catch myself before I try to swat her face away- grabbing my pant leg just to stop from hitting her. Without looking at Janie- I quickly make my way to the back of the boys' section- to the area clearly marked '**12's**' – where all the other idiotic boys my age are standing, unaware and terrified of what's to come.

"Vince-? Vince!"

Instantly I recognise the voice, but it takes me a second to find the appropriate face as Lilly comes ambling towards me, doubling over to catch her breath from the short run. I smile- weakly as she brushes the curled blonde hair away from her face, smiling weakly.

"How are you feeling?" Her blue eyes are filled with concern. "You ready for this?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine." What else is there to say? Leave me alone- I don't give a damn? "Shouldn't you be getting back to the girl's section?"

"What?" Lilly looks at me stunned- and a little hurt. "Can't a girlfriend try to comfort her boyfriend?"

I sometimes forget that I have a girlfriend. Perhaps it's because I never think about Lilly- and we've never actually kissed or hugged or done anything 'older'. I can't really imagine doing any of those things with her anyway. She's more of a status symbol really.  
Not that I don't like her. She's pretty- and not as annoying as some... I guess.

"Don't worry about me, I'm fine." I chortle softly and reach out to stroke her hair. It's soft from the touch of hours or preparation. She's been worried. "Just get back to the girl's section. It'll go okay."

Perhaps a little disappointed, Lilly retreats away and rejoins her friends- who have congregated at the edge of the group of twelve year olds to chatter and panic together. I'll never really understand girls and their pack tendencies. It just makes me uncomfortable to be reliant on others.

To be honest, I don't have a lot of friends. I'm surprised that Lilly even liked me. This is what I think about as the new 'Sector Mayor' begins to read about the Treaty of Treason.  
It makes no sense really. When she approached me, she couldn't look me in the eyes. It was after school- and she began to fluster over stuff like feelings and chances- and when she asked me out I just sort of went with it.

There was no reason not to. Sure, at the time I had no idea who she was- but that was almost a year ago. We still haven't done anything serious or even 'full-on' kissed yet- and I don't plan to- but I will admit that I've grown to like my decision.  
Chances don't really come up all that often here in the Capitol. It's sort of romanticised that they do- but they really don't. You're born; you pick a path- walk it and die. That's it.

Well, except for those who are going to be chosen today. Their path is going to be cut short.

-and as awful as it is to say this, but I hope it's Janie. Heck, I hope it's someone who deserves to have their path cut off in the middle. Someone I'll enjoy watching get slaughtered as the winner crosses around them oh-so delicately.

The escort for Sector 11 is a joke. She bursts up from under the stage waving about a white sheet- a gag since her name is boo- and begins to totter about on her feet- smiling like an idiot. I watch the sheet fall to the stage slowly, wondering what silly minded girl will be forced up there first.

"Let's have a change of pace and pick the _boy's _name first... hope he's cute!"

Alright, fine. What silly minded _boy _will be forced up there first.

All of Sector 11's boys shudder in a great breath as Boo picks up the bowl and fishes around inside it- scrounging for that 'special' slip. I can't hear even a rattle of an intake as the escort unravels the paper and flashes a wide smile, announcing the winner as-

"Vince Bryant Pace!"

_Chance_.

Every single pair of brainless eyes turn toward me as I stare blankly for a moment, not knowing exactly what to do. I can feel my body begin to tremble with an unrecognisable emotion while I make my way into the aisle- ignoring Lilly who reaches out, her eyes filling with tears.

I was chosen...

No one says anything. Boo is standing up on the stage, waiting for me to get there. With every step I take, the world gets lighter and lighter- and my head is starting to swim in a phantasm of ideas and thoughts- none of which I can pin down.

I was chosen...

The steps are solid to my feet- and I take great care not to get tangled up in the sheet that still lies forgotten across the stage. When I finally look up at the crowd- all staring at me expectantly- I begin to recognise this emotion as the tears form in my eyes.

I was chosen...

"Great work Vincent-!"

It takes every ounce of my self control not to burst out into insane, uncontrollable laughter- threatening to shake my entire world as all of my neighbourhood watches me with eyes filled with remorse.

I was chosen... and I'm getting a feeling. The most wonderful, euphoric feeling of a lifetime- that almost frightens me because of how powerful it's making me feel within my ribcage.

I can kill them all.

-whatever tribute is called up here, I can kill them. It's like I'm watching myself from afar as Boo calls out the name of the anonymous corpse I'm going to surpass. I've got that feeling I get each year, for the past six years- that I can win this. No, that I _will_ win this.

Even as a debacle begins to break out as some teenage girl begins to shout out at Boo- declaring herself as a volunteer- I take no notice of her. It's all I can do to contain the intense glee filling me up inside.

I can win this.

I was chosen to win this.

-And no one will guess that... because I'm only twelve years old.

**

* * *

**

Lilly beats my family to the 'final goodbye' tents set up for us inside a nearby library hall. I don't feel much- still reeling from the pleasure bouncing inside my veins- but I mutter that things are fine, and not to worry about me.

-I don't bother to break her little delusion of the sweet Vince who was in love with her. There's no point. I'm sure the Games will do that for her without my explaining.

When she leaves- that's when the real show begins. I can almost hear the drum roll and see the curtains rise as my Mother, white with panic and trembling with shock- walks in ahead of a sick looking Janie, who's pulling Peter and Bliss along behind her.

"Hello." I stare at my Mother- waiting for the waterworks to begin.

"Vince... _Vince_..."

As I expected- she can't even form proper sentences. My Mother sweeps me up in her arms- cradling me to her chest as I remain limp- not even closing my eyes as I stare over her shoulder at my brother and sisters. I can feel a strange sort of delight at how Janie looks like she's been slammed in the stomach.

Serves the idiotic ditz right.

Peter has been crying. I can tell because whenever he cried his cheeks would swell up like some sort of chipmunk. I almost want to laugh because of how stupid he looks.

Only Bliss draws any kind of emotion other than revelry from me. As always, my little sister looks as emotionless as ever- only with a hint of sadness playing inside her eyes.  
This I can appreciate- and only this.

"Mom- I know you probably have a lot to say-" I begin, pausing as the woman lets out a choked sob. "-But there's something I have to get through first... and it would be best if you answered truthfully... for a _change_."

The malice in my voice comes as a shock- but perhaps the woman is trying to pretend that it was just her imagination. Forcefully, I push her away from me to arm's length- watching her with a tinge of smugness as she falls helplessly to the bench beside me.

"Tell me now," I say firmly, narrowing my eyebrows. "Why did Dad die? How did Dad die?"

"Vince-" Her eyes are spilling over with tears. "Not now- can we not talk about this-?"

"No _Mother_, we _will _talk about this _now_," I hiss, smiling from ear to ear as I grip her arm- digging my nails into her skin. "Why did he die? Why _Mother_?"

Somehow the stunned look on my Mother's face serves as great entertainment to me as she casts horrified glances over at Janie and Peter- who look equally shocked. Only Bliss stares expectantly at the two of us, waiting for the answer.

"I... I can't-"

"Why?" I ask her, eyes widening ever more. "Because you've gone _so long _being able not to? Pathetic. That ends now Mother dear, tell me. Tell me now before I go off to war. Tell me now before you regret it _forever_."

I want to laugh; the look on her face is priceless. If I could have a snapshot and bring it into the Games with me- that would be my token. She begins to tremble- and tries to pull her arm away, but my grip is strong. She doesn't know of this strength. No one does.

"Tell me now." I repeat blankly, feeling her skin cave to my fingernails. "Why did he die?"

"Vince- you're hurting me-" Her voice quivers, struggling to pull away from me- the fear growing in her eyes. "Stop-!"

"Tell me _now- or it gets worse-_"

"Vince-!"

"Stop it now."

I let go. My Mother lets out a shriek as she falls to the floor, nursing her bleeding arm as the four of us look at Bliss- who stares at me with narrowed eyes.

"He died," Bliss says suddenly, staring pointedly at me. "After a fight with her."

She doesn't even look over at Mom. Janie and Peter stare at the woman on the floor- who stares at all of us in terror. I stare at Bliss, feeling surprise for the first time.

"...what...?"

"She cheated on him." Bliss' eyes are empty of emotion. "I'm the product of adultery- and he couldn't bear it. There was a note- and she threw it out."

All that can be heard is the heaving noise that our Mother is making- shattered on the floor. She stares at Bliss in complete, unbridled horror as Bliss finally looks her in the eyes.

"-I found it." Slowly, her hand digs into her pocket. I lean forward expectantly as a small, folded- dirty piece of paper emerges. "I've known since I was three... aren't you _so _glad that I was such a child genius...?"

"-You-"

"That's not all Mother..." Bliss holds out the note and drops it onto my lap, still staring at the woman. "I know there's more."

The woman begins to shake her head. Slowly at first- but Bliss' presence is beginning to take up the entire tent. Janie and Peter fade into nothing as the small girl I had thought so much of suddenly exhumes my whole world. I finally let my mouth open again.

"...more?" I cough out a laugh, unable to believe it all. "What...?"

Now the woman is thrashing on the ground- trying to claw at her nine year old daughter's legs as the black haired saviour stares down at her with contempt.

"...the note isn't even his handwriting..." A smile grows across Bliss' face as the woman goes rigid- finally shrieking in anguish.

"It was you who killed him."

* * *

**Some feedback would be luv-er-_ly _darling. x**


	24. S12, Strong Mortal

**A Vivid Note: **There's only one more to go after this reaping. Do you think you've made all your favourites yet? I certainly hope not- because even though they're last- these tributes count just as much as the last twenty-two did. Until we start the Games- these Games are wide open!

As always, we have a forum, and I'm always open for a chat. Keep in mind that the sponsoring system is review based (1 review, 1 point) and I'll be outlining the terms for the sponsoring system _next _chapter. Get a head start accumulating points to save your favourites by feedback'ing each chapter so far.

This tribute was written up by _SpiritAndBlood_, and she's one of the young 'uns. Feel sympathy for the little ones? I suppose we'll see. This isn't one of my best chapters- it's a tad shorter than most by about 500 words- but I had a bit of trouble here.

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Sapphire Emril; 13 years; the Capitol Sector 12._

The crisp morning air wakes me up fairly early, and there's that brief period of bliss where I forget why it is exactly that I'm sleeping in the cold morning air of the park inside of the children's tunnel slide.

-then I remember. And my happiness evaporates into a sour anger.

No one came out to get me since we fought.

Sitting up- I crack my neck, twisting my head left and right at all the joints pop in my head. All my limbs are sore from the cramped fit- but right now the pain isn't bothering me, or the throbbing headache my lack of sleep has caused.  
...what was the fight about...? I had left the house angry enough- but now I can barely remember. There was yelling, sure... no one was hit...

"...ah... yeah... of course."

It was about today... or something... Fallon's parents had said something along the lines of something not being a big deal and I... I snapped. There was shouting, screaming and a lot of gesturing on my part- since the old birds are a bit hard of hearing- and finally I stormed out and ended up... here.

This is always my waking up spot after a bad fight, only I've never actually have to have _woken up_ here. Fallon, my only real friend, always comes to take me home again. Even back when I lived at home with my parents- before they died I mean- he'd somehow... 'know' to come get me.

"...didn't come to get me this time..."

My jaw twitches involuntarily as I slump over my knees, still in the process of waking up. Although I'm annoyed at my friend for not coming to apologise- though for what I'm still figuring out- all of my worries about today have come rushing back all at once, and it's hard to focus on being angry when I'm too busy being terrified.

Today is the Quell reaping.

Unlike most Capitol citizens- I don't fully enjoy the Hunger Games. When I watch- all I can think about are the poor twelve year old kids- forced into an arena with bloodthirsty beings who want nothing more than to spill their virgin blood.  
It makes me sick. I tried petitioning to move up the age- but everyone laughed in my face. No one in the Capitol cares about political movements anymore, not since the last one- the rebellion over a century ago- ended so badly.

No one listens to a thirteen year old anyway. I don't know why I even bothered.

After the Quell card was read though, I bet a whole bunch of those idiots wished they had paid attention to me and all the other protest groups though- now that it's their kids on the line; their own families.  
No one cared about the Districts and their children- but of course they care about their own.

Hypocrites.

Me, I've always sort of been forced to recognise the ills of the world- rather painfully too. When a person's parents drop dead after a car accident and they run off to live with their friend instead of their insufferably annoying Uncle- and then everyone in the school thinks they're a freak-they'll always be painfully aware of everything that's wrong in the world.

Sapphire Emril everyone. Named after two sparkling gems and she's as dull as they come. Huzzah.

With a groan, I push my forehead against the edge of the tunnel slide, a little surprised by how warm it feels from the morning sun. Today really feels like a day where it should be storming with rain, but instead it looks like a sunny clothes commercial outside- not at all like a day where twenty four families will retreat to their homes, devastated.

I can't help but wonder who will be chosen today. Whether or not it'll be someone I know, or a stranger I might have been friends with under different circumstances. Strangely enough, I don't actually feel like it'll be me- but there is that gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach that believes otherwise.

Or perhaps I'm just hungry. I don't think I've eaten since yesterday noon.

...part of me feels like I should've been born as a District kid. It'd make more sense that way, definitely. At least then I'd have the right to hate the Capitol citizens like I do. Funnily enough- I don't feel half as much resentment towards the government as I do its people. _They're _the ones screwing it all up.

Sticking my legs out the end of the slide- I stretch and crack my joints again before standing up on the woodchips that cover the playground. I vaguely remember stumbling my way here, cursing the ground when the chips somehow stole away into my sandals. As I inspect my feet- I can see the scratch marks from where they almost punctured the skin.

Life is painful, isn't it?

Honestly, I have no idea where I'm supposed to go now. I don't want to go back home, but hanging around here until the reapings start isn't at all appealing either. So I guess I have no choice- I have to go home.

Usually I get along with Fallon and his family. Heck, I've grown to love them more than I did my real family. It's just that, being me, I stick to my beliefs- and I stick to them hard. No one likes to argue about politics- and even though I won't go as far as saying that I condemn the Hunger Games- I will stand by the fact that kids as young as twelve shouldn't have to fight.

-I'm thirteen, and yeah- it sounds arrogant to say this- but I'd have a decent chance compared to a little kid. Over the years I've learned where to hit where it hurts, and I've even been in situations where defending myself was a must. When you sleep outside as often as me, try not to laugh- that sort of stuff is essential.

As I walk, I try to recollect exactly how many fights I've been in. It's hard to count, since so many of them seem too stupid to actually include- like schoolyard tussles and all that. I've always been really tomboyish- which is why I got the tattoos so the other girls would take me seriously.  
Most of those fights were because of childish bets- you know- a dollar that this or that will happen, sometimes on the Hunger Games even. I stopped doing that after a girl realised she was 'very distantly' related to one of the past losers.

-how can that even happen? 'Distantly related'... right now it sounds like garbage, but at the time it got me hard in the heart.

Actually, a lot of the fights were because of my tendency to let things get to me- either by making me care too much about something or making me utterly hate it. I remember once punching my Father for making Mom cry. I was pretty young then- but he got a bloody nose.

...wow, I was saying life is painful- but I'm pretty painful too.

I reach the front lawn of the house, but I pause before I walk up the pathway. I'll have to be ready to be chewed out for my behaviour- since Fallon apparently isn't in the mood to stick up for me this time. I must have really upset his parents.

Taking a deep breath, I begin to march.

Today's going to be a rough day.

**

* * *

**

"I didn't _know _it was going to be that big a deal to them."

"-You practically called them _monsters_, of course they were going to be upset!"

Fallon hasn't forgiven me yet, but at least he's speaking to me. His parents were gone when I opened the door- but there he was- waiting to scold me for my 'childish behaviour'.

Whatever. I'm sure I'll feel guilty later, but right now I'm still annoyed that he didn't come to get me when I spent all night at that damn park.

"Saph', you need to keep that temper of yours in check," The hairs on my neck bristle at Fallon's tone. "You'll get yourself into trouble one day."

"Thanks for the help," I growl, clutching myself by the elbows. "Sure could've used that last night."

My words hit a nerve. Screwing his face up in anger, Fallon turns away- ignoring me.

We're usually not like this. Fallon has always been my best friend in the world- and whatever arguments we had were small and fairly short lived. This one just seems to be lasting because of the tensions that this stupid Quell has caused.  
This guy has always been a pessimist. I can't say I blame him- after all the crap that's happened to me- but it doesn't help my attitude any.

Both of us are still not talking by the time we approach the reaping street. After checking off our names though, the anger has started to evaporate and Fallon and I look at each other before the two of us go to our separate sections.

"Well... good luck," I offer my hand to him; a peace offering. "I'm sorry."

He looks at my outstretched hand for a moment, before taking it in his. For a few seconds we shake- as the Sector around us chatters on, oblivious- but before I know it we pull each other closer, hugging one another tightly to ourselves.

"Don't be sorry." Fallon's voice disappears into my hair. "I should've gotten you."

There's nothing I can really say, particularly because I can tell that my eyes are smiling for me. A twitch of a smile touches my friend's lips before he turns away- disappearing into the crowd of fourteen year old boys opposite me.

...I guess I have to go now too.

I don't push very far into the crowd of girls. I have no desire to wade in amongst them anyway- since I've never gotten on with my year group. Very few girls take real notice of me- but those who do aren't at all friendly. Popular girls from my year eye the thorn vine tattoo that encircles my wrist and crawls up to my neck- as well as the stars that freckle my cheeks and the neon blue streaks in my hair.  
My style isn't at all popular. Most girls subscribe to varieties of blonde or brown hair- or rainbow tattoos and additions like horns or wings. I've never liked that sort of thing, and as a result- I've never really been liked either.

As a person, I'm pretty unpopular I guess... my crabby nature and tendency to lash out at others when I find them 'detestable' has helped that along. I'd stop- but the strength inside me says that giving in would be like failing myself and my parents.

-And I'm never going to do that.

"-Sector 12, allow me to introduce myself-!"

Ha? I look up past the heads of the girls around me- surprised to see that a woman has laid claim over the stage. Her bright pink hair sticks out at strange _right _angles- and her eyes are a brilliant blue. Waving her hand over the crowd, she laughs an airy laugh before continuing.

"I am Vee! It's a pleasure to see all your eager faces!" She blows a kiss to no one in particular. I feel like vomiting as she continues to smile stupidly. "Let's get this reaping under way, shall we? There'll be no silly treaty for us- as we know that off by heart, don't we?"

I can't possibly imagine what 'Vee' must know, particularly since no one here has an even remotely 'eager' looking face.

"I'd just like to say, before we begin the fun-" Fun. _Fun_? No wonder the Districts hate us! Do they go through this each year? "I'd like us all to wish _really hard _so one of our tributes will make Sector 12 a _win-ner~_!"

It's slowly becoming more possible that I really will barf. Not just for this, but for humanity. How could someone as stupid as 'Vee' be in charge of choosing which kids should live and which should die?

Mother... Father... are you watching this? Can you see what's happening to the Capitol from Heaven? Because from what I can see, we're all damned...

"Okay, let's hope our wish comes true!" Vee trots over the table holding the balls of names up. "Now here goes... our lucky female tribute for Sector 12... is..."

Suddenly agile- her hand lunges into the ball and snaps back out- clutching one slip in between her spidery fingers. The anticipation rises in my chest as she so very, _very _slowly walks back to the podium- holding up the piece of paper- and declaring-

"Sapphire Emril!"

-My body goes slack. So slack that I'm suddenly falling onto an unwitting girl standing beside me. We both crash to the ground- her cry resonating throughout the crowd as people around us shriek and squeal in shock.

"Is that our girl over there?" From the ground, I see Vee cover her eyes from the sun and smile in our direction. "Come now; up up Sapphire- let the crowd see you!"

It doesn't make sense in my mind. Even as I'm being helped to my feet- and my shaky legs try to walk towards the blasted stage... it doesn't make sense. I... I can't have been chosen... I'm only thirteen.

"Let's have a big hand for Sapphire Emril!" Vee announces cheerfully, before I've even mounted the steps. "Do we have any volunteers?"

Oh please. I feel my eyes tear up a little in desperation. This isn't... this isn't supposed to happen to me is it? What did I do for this? Am I so disliked that even God wishes me dead-?

"Going once-!"

Mother in Heaven... can't you save me...? Father...? Anyone-?

"Going twice-!"

Fallon. Out in the crowd, he's there somewhere. He's watching me. We just... we apologised... this isn't fair... is it...?

I can't breathe. My chest feels tight and I draw my hands close as I begin to heave with every shaking breath. Vee opens her arms wide and sings a short trill- signifying the end.

"And gone! Congratulations Sapphire Emril- Sector 12's female tribute!"

With a great rasping breath, it takes all my strength to continue standing. Just like that- the crowd's attention draws away as Vee walks away and grabs inside the male ball- expertly skewering the boy's name just as she had done mine.

...why my name...? I was in there twice. Just two names. Out of thousands, perhaps millions. But she picked my name-!

...is this... is this some sort of twisted destiny?

Vee calls out someone else's name. It's not Fallon, and it's not anyone else I know. As the boy walks up to the stage- I can see that he's quite muscular- almost steroid-abuse muscular. His turquoise eyes meet with mine as he ascends the steps- but then the interaction is gone- and Vee is calling for volunteers.

...no one is volunteering. They're just thankful that the reaping is over. That they're safe. That tonight they will go home- knowing that they are safe from the Games forever. And there they'll sleep- peacefully.

I won't sleep tonight. I don't know if I'll ever be able to sleep again.

Because as the shock dies away, and Vee congratulations 'Julian' and I on being Sector 12's tributes- I realise that now I only have one purpose.

To do all I can to come back.

**

* * *

**

"We're going to sponsor you Sapphire," Fallon hasn't cried. But he looks like he's just been smacked around the face a lot. "Believe me."

I don't know who he means by 'we'. Perhaps he means his Mother and Father- who had just left. If that's the case- it's not that I don't believe him when he says that, because he probably means that, but I doubt his parents are willing to spend that kind of money on me.

"Thanks."

There's nothing else to say to that. So I smile weakly. "Guess this is it, huh?"

"...what?" Fallon stares at me, horrified. "Saph, you can't give in that easily."

"I'm not giving in," I say shortly, perhaps a little angry. "You think I'm going to roll over and let myself be killed? I'm just saying- the odds of me getting back are-"

"One in twenty four- which isn't that bad," He grabs my hand, squeezing it tightly. "Sapphire, you're like my little sister. That's why I was happy to take you in. You have to come back."

Oh god. How I wish I could say something comforting to him, reassure him that I _definitely _will come back to live in that silly house of meaningless arguments. That I won't go join my Mother and Father in Heaven within the next fortnight.

But I can't. All my lies are caught in my throat, and my jaw is already twitching- which has always occurred whenever I attempt to lie.

My friend can see the truth, even if he's not willing to accept it just now. It might take him a while- just as it did me. Standing on that stage, I recognised what was necessary. But it didn't blind me to reality- which is that for me to come back, twenty-three others must die.

"Just watch out for me, okay?" I manage to wink cheerfully. "When you see someone coming at me with a knife- shout 'Run!' so loud that I hear you, okay?"

Awful joke, but he smiles for a little bit. Then it vanishes, probably at the same time mine does when he thinks about the whole 'knife' part. It's not so much a joke anymore as a premonition.

"...you'll be careful out there?"

"Yes."

There's so little to say. It almost makes me sad- but I'm also relieved. It's painful saying goodbye, but it's also a little... relieving. At least I don't have to force my parents through this pain.

"Hey," Fallon and I look up to see a peacekeeper holding open the privacy tent's flap. "It's time for you to leave sir."

For the second time, Fallon and I hold out handshakes- only to collapse into a hasty embrace.

Though there were never 'romantic' feelings between us, I really did think of him as a brother. And knowing that he felt the same way has made me very happy; possibly the happiest I've been since my parents passed on.

I still have family here. And even though my Mother and Father are waiting in Heaven... I want to stay here... with Fallon...

On Earth.

* * *

**Tell me what you think? I'd really appreciate it. :D**


	25. S12, Relaxed Fighter

**A Vivid Note: **Blare the trumpets! Throw the confetti! Light the fireworks! We are _**finished with the reapings**__! _Everyone sing it with me now! _We are finished with the reapings!_

Also- I have come to an official decision- as the last poll was rather obvious; this story will have a collaboration option (a legal version of what is commonly known as 'sponsoring'), outlined at the bottom of the chapter.

This tribute, last but not least, was entered by _Tour de Force_, and I'd like to give her the congratulations for waiting the longest to see her final tribute be written up. Let's be rid of the reapings once and for all! (_...until my next tribute story, of course. Which I'll be starting once it's clear who wins __**these **__Games._)

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Julian Healthcliffe Farraday; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 12._

Right from the moment I wake up, I know today is going to be made of complete suck-age.

"Oh you have _got _to be kidding me-!"

I'm still growing feathers, even though I stopped the growth treatment almost two months ago. I should've known when I delved into the whole peacock fad a year ago that it wasn't going to last. Now I'm regretting undergoing the expensive, not to mention _painful _treatment that began the feathers- and not spending that money on something worthwhile- like nun-chucks or something cool.

Now I have to pluck each and every new grown feather out before they get too noticeable.

-What a complete _pain_-!

"Ow-! Son of a-"

See, this is why the Districts have it easy. They don't have to worry about being popular in school or keeping up with crazy trends like webbing or peacock feathers like we do. I'd much rather just work around with a plough all day- working on my abs.  
At least, I think ploughs help work out with abs... right? I really don't know- I generally use enhancements-

I wanted to go out partying last night but Mom would let me- or even Odette and Lourdes or any of us actually. Katarina even screamed at her for about three hours and she still didn't cave. Mom was going on about it being inappropriate to party so close to 'tomorrow'- but I didn't understand the big deal. She's never cared if we go partying before.

Oh for crying out loud... there's feathers down there too?

"-You've got to be kidding-AGH-!"

With a fistful of feathers, I stagger backwards and fall onto my bed- writhing in pain. This is the _last _time I have genetic modifiers for a bloody trend. It's just not worth the aftermath, cleaning up when the trend is over. Damn it-!

And now I'm bleeding. Great, just what I needed.

"Jules, can you keep it down? Trying to sleep and you're filling the whole house with your girlish screams."

Manfried stands in my doorway, gritting his teeth in frustration. I stare pointedly at his obvious bed hair before feeling my lip curl as I pluck a stray peacock feather from my hip.

"It's the freaking feathers again-" I hold it up for him to see, hand tensing in anger. "Is Katarina still dealing with these?"

"No dude, because she wore synthetic ones- no one was stupid enough to get the actual implantations," my brother rubs the sleep from his eyes, flicking them into the hallway. "Seriously though, I wanted to get some sleep in before this whole Quell thing today."

"What Quell thing?"

"The reaping, you know- Capitol reapings? It's been on the news apparently."

"Oh," I was completely unaware of that; mainly because I spend my nights partying, not at home watching television. "So, like- when do we have to be there?"

"I don't _know_ man-" Manfried groans, rubbing his temples with his forefingers. "Can you just... keep it down with the feather plucking? Go to the doctors or something- get the damn implantations removed."

"Yeah, yeah..." I sourly pull yet another feather from my backside. "Go back to sleep then princess."

He's already halfway out the door by the time I finished answering- so I get no reply. I'm still a bit annoyed by the fact no one told me about this reaping deal- so I'll have to go talk to Odette or Lourdes or one of my brothers and sisters that actually pays attention to the news.

-heh, that makes me want to laugh. None of us pay attention to the news. To be honest we probably couldn't care less. Sleep by day, party by night. Who has time for reapings or anything like that? Personally I don't think I've ever even watch a full Hunger Games. They just seem like a waste of time.

-Good parties though.

I've been a bit out of it this week though, in particular. Maybe it's because it's been a week since I've gotten any- or even left the house to go to an actual party. I just feel sort of bored and empty from having nothing to do for so long. Unaccomplished, you know?

Before I leave my room I pull on the nearest pair of pants that don't reek of sweat- not really caring if they're clean or not. Shirts make me feel confined, so I won't bother putting one on. Anyone who knows me _knows _that I don't wear a shirt. Not even when I still went to school. I used to write fake notes saying I was allergic to all fabrics from the waist up.

-didn't work, but I didn't wear any shirts anyway.

There's not much point of wearing a shirt anyway. I'm a huge fan of the human body- if you're young and hot and all- and me, I've earned the right to walk around like the Adonis I've shaped myself up to be. Sun bronzed skin that shines like brass- pecs and abdominal muscles that give weight lifters a run for their money- and not to mention the red and black hair look that only I could rock.

I sound up myself, sure, but anyone can understand that if you've got it- flaunt it. And I am very much a flaunting kind of guy.

It takes me a few minutes to find my head and locate my sister Odette- who is the only one I can actually assume watches television anymore. She's already dressed in this white, frilly baby doll sort of dress- poking at this pop tart with a fork with a glum expression.

"You don't eat pop tarts with a fork you know," I say with a smile- opening up the fridge door and pulling out a beer. "Eat with your hands your majesty."

"Shut up," Odette rests her head on her left hand, still staring at the pop tart, thinking. "You do know we all have to be in the middle of town by one, right?"

"That's what I was going to ask you," I slide into the seat next to her, cracking open the lid of my own breakfast. "What's the deal with today then?"

"We're all up for reaping," My sister looks at my freshly opened beer, wrinkling her nose. "Christ- you're not eating anything?"

"Beer counts as food." I take a swig, swallowing with a smile.

Odette doesn't look at all amused.

"It's so wrong," She looks away from me and is poking holes into her neglected breakfast. "We're getting punished for nothing. _Nothing_. The Districts rebelled against us a hundred and twenty-five years ago because they were too stupid to ask for negotiations. What is up with that?"

"Whoah, don't ask me about history," I snort, still grinning. "I flunked, remember?"

"Jules you didn't graduate- you flunked _everything_."

"I did pretty well in Sex Ed', thank you very much-"

"-it's just that I don't understand why we have to put our lives on the line for no reason, yeah?" Odette looks at me, expecting an answer. "Do you get me?"

"No, but I don't like the idea of going in those Games," I can't help but look away as her face falls. "They're boring, and a waste of time. I'd rather spend my time doing something worthwhile."

The kitchen is silent for a couple of minutes as Odette returns to poking her mutilated pop tart and I drink half of my beer. It seems like a long, awkward pause until my sister finally says-

"I suppose dying isn't really worthwhile, is it?"

I don't really know what to say to that.

So I inhale the rest of my drink.

* * *

To my disappointment- though it's not really that surprising- I'm fully sober by the time we have to leave the house for the reaping. I was sort of hoping that I'd at least be a bit smashed by now- so the whole thing would go faster for me.  
Odette stopped me from downing too many drinks. It pissed me off because we Farraday siblings usually don't care about one another- though today Odette seems to be making some sort of special effort.

Plus I really didn't want to be coherent for this. It's going to be such a drag.

As we begin to walk there, Odette doesn't let up with her endless debate on the unfairness of this Quell. I don't really bother listening, because I don't care one way or another. Sure, I like fighting and blood sports- they have a certain macabre charm I guess- but these Games are always the same, always so... pointless.

The five of us all left the house together- but we didn't stick together, as I had sort of expected. Manfried splits away first, ducking into a convenience store along the way; Odette tries to make us wait for him, but we keep walking anyway.

"Guys-!" Odette makes a grab for Katarina's dress sleeve, only for her to pull away with a scowl. "Let's stick together!"

"What's the point?" Katarina raises an eyebrow at her, exchanging a frustrated glance with Lourdes. "We'll see each other afterwards anyway."

This seems to upset Odette- but I really couldn't care less. Why is today any different from any other day- aside from the fact this is the first time we've ever been _forced _to go to an event? Nothing in the Capitol has ever been mandatory, and I'm guessing from the way my eyelids keep slipping shut- there's a reason.

"-Wait, you guys-!"

Not bothering to look back, I take the initiative and leave the others behind. As much as I don't want to get there too early- taking my time to get there just makes me feel like the whole thing is even longer than it is.  
In front of the convenience store, I hear Odette begin to wail.

"Jules! Wait-!"

I wave a hand behind me, but I don't look back.

The streets are unsurprisingly crowded. As I lazily walk towards the reaping street, my head begins to ache from a mixture of the blaring sun overhead and the unrelenting chatter of the crowd on all sides of me.  
Every now and then I catch eyes with someone I'm friends with- only no one stops to chat. They're all in a state of comatose apparently, because I even recognise a girl I slept with a few weeks back and give her a smirk- only for her to look at her shoes like something awful happened.

What's wrong with everyone? They can't actually be feeling frightened or worried about this stupid 'Quell' thing can they? I mean- sure- not everyone does the best in blood sports, but it can't be that difficult.

Maybe it's because I have a cooler head than most of these guys. They probably can't help being terrified, since they're all so obsessed with these Games or whatever. If they just let loose like I do- they'd probably not be so tense...

-oh crud... another feather is growing out of my elbow.

"-Gah," Seizing it tightly between my fingers- I yank it hard. "Oh son of a-!"

I bite hard on my bottom lip to stop from swearing the full line. There's a lot more people around- and I don't fancy being chewed out by some apron string Mother right now. I'm starting to regret not buying another beer while I was by the store... yeah I'm underage, but that's never stopped me before.

Marking my name off the register is easy enough, though now that I'm so close to the crowds of 'eligible tributes', the stink of fear is positively overwhelming. It's hard not to care when everyone else seems to be fretting and wailing all around.  
-Perhaps I've been missing something each year. The Games always did seem boring- but to all these people, they apparently mean something important...

In the male '**17**'**s**' section I see a group of mates all clamouring together. I wave in my usual manner- but none of them seem at all obliging today. As I draw near, I see as one of them looks me up and down.

"Checking me out?" I ask suavely, buffing my nails against my chest. "Not that I blame you."

"-Dude," My friend replies, rather seriously. "Couldn't you at least put on a shirt for this?"

"What's the point?" I snort, shrugging. "You know I'm too much for shirts man."

...what is with everyone? Usually that sort of line would merit me some sort of grin- or at least a 'shut up Jules'. Today though, their expressions are so cold and serious that I feel my entire body slacken in surprise.

"Not you guys too...?" The groan is surprisingly whiny for me. "Why is everyone so _down _today?"

No one answers me. Several glances- a few of which aren't at all friendly- are thrown at me- but no answers. I'm starting to feel a little angry at the attitudes everyone seems to be giving me today. What's the big deal about today? Sure- it's a pain, but I don't see anything to get so... depressed about.

People like these guys and Odette need to learn how to chill out and enjoy life. Like I've done. Maybe then the Capitol won't fail so hard.

"-Sector 12, allow me to introduce myself-!"

Silence grabs at the crowd as a woman- appearing from apparently _nowhere- _takes over the stage. She's a little older than most escorts I've seen- but she's clearly had a lot of work done... like most of the escorts I've seen.

Heh, I don't know what I was expecting there.

"I am Vee! It's a pleasure to see all your eager faces-!"

Oh god- even she's blowing this out of proportion. Why should anyone be excited either? The sun is sweltering in my eyes- and I'm pretty damn thankful I didn't wear a shirt today. I'm sure that I'd be melting if I had.

The Vee woman continues, regardless of my attention. "There'll be no silly treaty for us- as we know that off by heart, don't we?"

Oh thank _god_. I'm starting to like this woman already. She's going to help and make this reaping be a speedy one- isn't she? I can't wait to get home. Usually I'd do some reps or work on my image- but I think today when I get home, I'll just lie down and enjoy doing absolutely nothing. It's been a while since I've done that.

"I'd like us all to wish really hard so one of our tributes will make Sector 12 a _win-ner~_!" Vee puts her hands together, praying rather cheekily. "Mmm?"

If she were about ten years younger, I might've found her more attractive right now.

"Okay, let's hope our wish comes true!" I stop looking up at the stage for a moment, noticing yet another stray feather poking out of my shorts. When and _how _did I miss that? "Now here goes... our lucky female tribute for Sector 12... is..."

...and she's dragging it out. Great. Just when I was starting to like her for making this so quick for me- she goes ahead and tries to build up the anticipation in the crowd. I almost want to catcall "get on with it!"- but my friends look like they're on edge right now, and saying anything might get me punched in the face.

-Not that I couldn't take all of them in a fight.

"Sapphire Emril!"

Don't know her. Judging from the guys around me, none of them do either.

-Just as I suspected. This year is going to be just like every other Hunger Game before. Boring, filled with people no one knows or cares about. Just the way I like it- so I don't have to bother learning about it.

The girl who walks into the open is young, but doesn't look adorable in the slightest. She takes a while to wander out- Vee calls her name out again- but the moment I catch sight of that pale skin and medley of depressing tattoos- I almost want to roll my eyes.  
Seems like 'Sapphire Emril' is one of those... what do you call 'ems... Goths? Emo kids? I forget- I usually just call them idiots.

No way would I waste any of my sponsoring money on her in a blood sport. Look at her- shivering up there with her hands pressed against her flat chest. It'd be a complete fail of a bet.

"Going once-!"

I wonder if anyone else will volunteer for her. People sometimes talk about how it's unfair that young kids die in the Games. I'd much rather see an attractive girl 'representing' me though, I guess.

"Going twice-!"

She looks so pathetic up there. Sapphire looks out across the crowd with sad eyes- and I can feel myself getting bored again. She's going to die, I get it.

"And gone! Congratulations Sapphire Emril- Sector 12's female tribute!"

There's some rabble of applause- which I casually join into- as the girl stands up there, completely mortified of what today has brought her. Funnily enough, I don't feel bad or anything for her- even though the entire crowd around me seems to.  
I thought they love these Games. Why is everyone suddenly so melancholy about the whole thing? I never gave a damn- and I don't suddenly hate it.

"Now let's get to our lucky male tribute~!" Vee's back on the move; time for the lucky dude. "And our Sector 12 tribute is..."

Her fingers grab inside the ball of names- and as she pulls it out, I watch with some bewilderment as a nearby guy begins gripping his friend's upper arm for support. I tilt my head, amused as Vee steadies the microphone and says-

"Julian Healthcliffe Farraday!"

...

...well that was unexpected.

Not really knowing what to feel- I walk into the pathway separating the boys and girls groups. People part for me- almost frightened- as I walk towards the stage, feeling an oddly blank sort of sensation in my chest.

...of all the people, huh? That's sort of funny I guess.

The escort flashes me this brilliant smile when I reach the top of the stairs, and also shares a covert looking wink that I think only I see. Before I take my place beside the Gothic girl- I catch her eye, but quickly look away again- not wanting her to get any funny ideas.  
...Hunger Games huh... how am I going to do in a blood sport?

"Are there any volunteers? Going once-"

It's been going on for a hundred and twenty-five years. That means there have been that many victors. I guess it can't be that hard then, if there's been that many.

"Going twice-!"

Funny, but I always sort of thought in a situation like this, I'd be more panicked. But I'm still pretty calm. In fact- I feel rather good right now. With all these cameras on me, I feel a bit like a rock star.

"Going for the third and final time-!"

The eerie silence is back. For a brief moment, I see an odd sort of smirk on the faces of several of the guys I had just been standing with- which takes me by surprise.

Why-?

"And gone! Congratulations Sapphire Emril and Julian Farraday- Sector 12's tributes for the Fifth Quarter Quell!"

...oh damn.

Guess this means I won't be able to do nothing this afternoon.

* * *

"How can you not be worried?" Odette's voice is like a knife through my ears, I almost want to cover them up from her volume. "You're going to be killed Julian! _Killed_!"

"Way to believe in him Odette," growls Katarina, shaking her head. "He can do this. Did you see his partner? She's a complete pushover."

This is such a pain. If I knew being reaped meant having to put up with my family's hysterical farewells- I might've been a lot less accommodating to the idea. This is a nightmare. Can't I just go into the Games already?

"Relax Odette, I'll be fine," I shine my nails against my chest, as I often do. "It can't be that hard. I'm a big guy- I can take care of myself."

My words don't seem to restore any confidence in my sister- because this just seems to piss her off more. Odette flies into a complete fluster of words and babbling worries- none of which I really pay any attention to. I'm too busy trying to think about what all this actually means to me.

So I'm going into the Games. There's some sort of arena, and a whole bunch of weapons. And it's a Quell- don't know what that means- so that means that the arena is going to be 'super spectacular' as Lourdes used to joke- and there'll be 'many dangers' or whatever.  
I don't know why any of that seems scary. It just seems like a pageant to me... in which a few of the weaker people get killed. Perhaps I deserved to flunk school- because I don't see death as that terrifying really.

"Is _any _of this getting through to you Jules?" Odette grabs me by the shoulders, shaking me slightly. "You have to team up with strong people if you want to live!"

"-strong people?" Manfried snorts, shaking his head with a smile. "There won't be _careers _Odette, these are Capitol kids. The closest thing to a career is going to be sweet Jules here."

We both grin, but the girl grabbing my shoulders isn't the least bit relieved. Instead she starts to tremble as tears start bubbling up in the corners of her eyes- and her nails are starting to get painful as they dig into me.

"Please listen to me Jules-" Odette whimpers desperately. "Don't be an idiot in there. Make strong allies. Trustworthy ones-!"

"He can take care of himself sis', he's not a baby," Katarina rolls her eyes. "It's not like _you're _going into the arena."

Katarina's words hit a bad mark- because suddenly Odette has whirled around and thrown a punch at our sister's face. Stumbling backwards, Katarina throws her hands up- grabbing at Odette as her face quickly changes from shock to rage.

"You-!"

She lunges, swiping her nails at Odette's face. Blinded by her tears, Odette stumbles away- but Katarina's middle finger slashes across her nose- causing her to shriek in pain.

"Whoah- hold it-!" Lourdes tries to jump in the middle- but all too quickly they fall to the floor, writhing and kicking at one another. "This isn't helping-!"

As inappropriate as this is, I want to laugh hysterically right now at the sight of my two sisters having it out on the tent's floor. All too quickly the Peace keeper is pulling open the curtain- shouting for them to stop- only they refuse to listen.

-I wouldn't have my farewell go any other way.

Because if this is how all Capitol girls fight- at least I know they'll be no trouble beating them.

...just got the guys to worry about I guess then.

"Stop this right now!"

I wonder if I should be more worried than this...?

* * *

**For the details of collaboration, or 'sponsoring', please refer to the link on my profile linking to 'District 15'. Have a wonderful day. xx**


	26. Through the Districts' Eyes

**A Vivid Note: **I wasn't going to post this for another day, but I decided that you all have waited a DAMN long time for the reapings to end. And so have I! So I'll upload this chapter and Chapter 27 today as well, just because I _do_ love you guys.**  
**

-But just when you think we're going to the chariots- it's time to take a break for some not-so subtle foreshadowing and shameless recapping (_as well as the District's perspective on these Games and your tributes_) so yes! This chapter will highlight a number of _next year's _unlucky tributes- which I have already gathered up nice and neatly for this very occasion.  
Originally I was going to post twelve segments of 1000, but it got to be _too _large (twelve thousand words people, eek) and my computer started to sort of spasm whenever I saved or did anything with it- so now it's just the first four districts, and I'll introduce the other two groups of four later.

As I mentioned earlier, I'm starting a 'Capitol Question' segment for each chapter to help encourage feedback. Please answer the questions in a review so I know what the audience's views are, as well as to gain 'sponsor points'. :) It'll help me a million times over, and you guys will have fun learning what each other thinks about the characters.

**Capitol Question #001; which 'Sector' do _you_ think has the best chance of winning?**

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Excellence Scarlet DeLaurier; 17 years; District 1._

"I can't believe this," Vigor hisses to me, his arms tensing in frustration. "-Some lanky idiot and a child with _wings_?"

I nod in agreement, not even watching the television screen on the wall as I nurse the mug of hot chocolate in my hands. To be frank- I can't really think about anything except how gorgeous this boyfriend of mine sitting next to me is, but I can hear what he's saying. The tributes representing us this year aren't anything at all like we might have hoped.

"-we may as well just throw away this year's games," Vigor angrily grabs at the remote, turning up the volume of the reapings. "A waste- a complete freaking waste-"

The table shudders when Vigor hurls the remote back onto it- flinching as the battery casing snaps and falls to the floor. A nervous laugh pushes its way out of me as I watch him hunch over and pick up the broken plastic off the floor and forcibly jam it back into place.

"It was meant to be _my _year!" He turns to me, eyes wide and spitting. "You know Lex'? That was the plan! A victor at eighteen! Damn it-!"

In District 1, being a victor is a huge deal. Not everyone here is as well off as the other Districts think. Almost no one has Avox servants anymore, and the Peace Keepers are cracking down on us even harder than ever to up the amount of gemstones being mined.  
For training kids like Vigor and I, winning the games was pretty much our entire career path. And this Quarter Quell has effectively ruined Vigor's life efforts.

"It'll be okay Viggie," I coo, placing the mug on the abused coffee table. "I promise-"

Instantly I regret saying anything- because Vigor's glare is more terrifying than all the table abuse in the world. I recoil slightly as those blue eyes dilate and his lips are pulled taut with anger. Quickly I begin to fumble to fix the damage.

"I-I mean- it might not be so bad," Lord I wish I knew exactly what to say right now. "I understand-"

"How on _Earth _do you understand?" Vigor's entire body ripples as he tenses up. "You're an _idiot _Lex', you could _never _understand how much this Quell has _ruined _my life."

Falling silent, I let my eyes shy to the couch as Vigor, still pulsing, stares back at the television screen that is still showing off the Capitol's less than lovable tributes.

To be completely honest, I was a little peeved that the Quarter Quell stopped us from volunteering too. Not that I was going to volunteer this year, since it was meant to be Vigor's turn- and I didn't want us to have to face off against one another- but I always liked seeing my friends do their best to win- even if they didn't, you know, come out on top. Spending those weeks rooting for them with everyone was sort of worth it.

As I fiddle with my necklace, watching the rerun of Capitol children, I can tell that there's no one here I really want to root for- especially not publicly with everyone in District 1 hating these games on principle. All the kids seem completely hopeless, like throwing lambs to the slaughter.

Vigor's right about District 1- we haven't got a hope. The little winged girl Liotta looks all ready for heaven with that set of gaudy wings stabbed into her back, and the boy is so spindly looking- there are no muscles on him at all. They'll be dead in the bloodbath for sure.

"-District _six _has more hope than we do!" Vigor throws an arm up in the air, his voice filled with bitterness. "-And seven, those were the only bloody volunteers with any meat on them!"

"Were there other volunteers-?" I ask, hoping to redeem the previous spat.

"A prissy little girl with wings we get, _wings_..." He ignores me, grabbing my mug and taking a rough gulp. "-Not that I'd ever expect a Capitol girl to even have a _chance _of winning the games, not when our own girls are so weak-"

One would think I'd fight back, being in training for the games myself, but I know better than to argue against Vigor's chauvinistic views. So I just smile weakly and not say anything, lest I awaken his proper anger.

"-wish that idiot Hendrix was dying this year instead," Vigor turns to me- a smirk finally crawling across his face. "I guess that's the only bonus this year brings, yeah? Now I get another year to watch that moron throw his pretentious little knives-"

And Vigor dives into a lengthy bitching session about 'Collar Hendrix', the only other guy in training who's ever been said to hold a candle to Vigor. I nod every now and then, since I'm not really expected to say anything to spurn him on, and drift off into my own thoughts.

I wonder who would've died this year, instead of these Capitol kids... instead of this 'little Liotta' and... the boy? I'd never voice this to him- but it might have been Vigor, and I'm really glad that now there's no chance of that happening. I don't know how I'd deal with losing him, not after we've been dating all these months.  
...I don't know who the girl would've been. It might have been one of my friends, Glamour, Pulchre- or even silly Rouge? Maybe even one of the training girls I don't talk to- like that Wallace girl or someone. They might have volunteered- and I'd have never known. They could've died, but they won't because of this Quell.

"-hey, are you even listening to me? Freaking hell..."

"Ah- no, I am listening! I agree!" I snap back into action, turning my grey eyes back to Vigor, wide with fear. "I completely agree with you!"

Lucky for me, Vigor relaxes at my hasty words- as do I. After all these months of doing my best to keep him happy- I think I've remembered that he only ever wants me to listen when it's to agree with him.

"Yeah... yeah, they're all idiots," Relaxing against the back of the couch, Vigor begins to eye me lazily. "...I'm bored of watching this... go upstairs?"

A tingle runs up my spine as I see his eyes listlessly loll downwards, a look of amusement playing upon his face. It's not a suggestion he's making- it's more of an ultimatum. Go upstairs or I should go home.

"Uh, yeah... let's go." I shift slightly- wondering how I'm possibly going to keep him from pushing me into doing 'that' again. "-turn off the television?"

Smile growing, Vigor picks up the remote and clicks off. I watch as the split-screen image of 'Liotta McKensie' and 'Jason Blackheath'- showing tears piling in her eyes and the forced blank in his- suddenly shrinks into a flat line and then to a dot; the screen suddenly black.

I shouldn't worry about the Quarter Quell.

"Come on, get up then." The annoyance is coming back to Vigor's voice.

"Yes, I'm coming-!" Stumbling to my feet, I beam as widely as I can- feeling my heart pound as his heavy hand takes hold of my arm.

I have more important things to deal with.

**

* * *

**

_Cain Ialo; 17 years; District 2._

There's no sense of satisfaction when the dummy falls to the floor, its stuffing spewing from its neck. I pull a few stray strands from the catches in the metal- staring down with distaste and exhaustion at my thoroughly worn out target dummy.

If it were a real person, it probably would've been dead hours ago.

"-I think that's enough for today Cain," I glance sideways at Aloe, staring as the petite girl sits on her backyard stoop, watching me. "This isn't going to make you feel any better..."

"-can't make me feel any worse," I breathe, pushing the sweat off my forehead into my hair. "You've got to at least give me that..."

With a swift twist of my arm, I stab into the straw dummy's stomach- digging the sword in so it sticks. I hear a squeak escape Aloe- which only helps make me feel worse.  
I'm not trying to frighten her with this intensity. I just want to forget about Jude, just for a minute. To not worry about the worst case scenario for a few more minutes.

"He's going to show up." Aloe whispers tearfully, her hands gripping the edges of her seat. "The whole fight thing just scared him... that's all..."

"Yeah, okay," I hoist the dummy up with some difficulty- doing my best to lift the entire thing over my head without it sliding down the sword at me. "You're probably right."

Aloe is the only one I'd talk about this with; my brother taking off, the fight with his drug dealers. If I talked about it with my parents- they'd only talk about what a disappointment Jude turned out to be, and how I'm no better than him for getting mixed up with that crowd.  
The only time I ever tangled with that crowd was to save Jude from having his fingers torn off for payment. I didn't get away clean either. I still remember Aloe's shaking hand as she tried to stitch up that gash that lines the side of my head now.

"Were you... going to volunteer this year?" Aloe's voice remains soft and fragile, so much like she is. "I mean, you only have two years left..."

"No, not this year," I let the dummy fall off the end of the sword, letting it lay in the patchy grass of Aloe's backyard. "Not with Jude the way he is. Next year, probably."

"Okay..." Aloe looks up at the sky in thought. "I'll be fifteen next year."

"Congratulations," I smirk, resting the sword against the brickwork of her home. "You're getting old aren't you?"

"-not really," It's hard not to laugh when Aloe pouts like that. "I mean, I'm still pretty young..."

"That Capitol kid from Sector 2 is your age," I slump against the wall, folding my arms as I finally relax. "He's only fourteen."

"Really?" Aloe's eyes widen in surprise. "I thought he was sixteen, he didn't look my age at all!"

"-neither do you," I smile, reaching over to ruffle up her pale hair. "You look like an eight year old- that's why everyone laughs when you're throwing knives in the training hall."

There's that pout again. We only share these sides of ourselves with one another- and no one else. It's sort of comforting, if not a little sad that Aloe and I are unable to express ourselves like this to anyone else in our lives.

"I'm not the only girl who throws knives in there!" She knocks away my hand and folds her arms in a huff. "Katarzyna does too."

"Who?"

"Katarzyna? Katarzyna Klementyna? You don't know her?"

"I don't really pay attention to anyone else there, there's really no point." I watch in interest as Aloe begins to smile again to herself. "Why are you so happy?"

"No reason..." It's an obvious lie, and Aloe quickly speaks again. "I'm sort of glad that this year is the Quarter Quell... I mean... we get another year of just... this, don't we?"

"What?" I cock an eyebrow and wave towards the massacred dummy. "-us talking about absolutely nothing while I shred apart stolen training dummies?"

She giggles at this, and I feel the smirk slip from my face. I can't help but wonder what Aloe originally saw in me to befriend me for so long- but to have at least one person I'm this comfortable around was worth the wait for Aloe Evans to pick up the courage to talk to me.

"Yeah... just this," Aloe smiles again, her sapphire eyes focusing on me. "To be honest, I was a little scared you'd volunteer this year. You're like a brother to me, and if I lost you- that'd be terrible."

Sweet words. A smile does part my lips, but inside I can feel my heart sink a little. I have a brother too, somewhere out there in the District. And I'm worried about him.  
Perhaps Aloe is psychic- because her smile drops and she reaches out- patting my hand that hangs by my side.

"We'll find him, okay?" Her eyes are filled with that concern I assume parents are supposed to have. "Don't worry Cain, we'll find Jude."

The girl must be psychic. Either that or she knows me too well. With a sigh, I look up to the sky like she had done, losing myself in thought.

Jude hates the Hunger Games, and his running away at this Quarter Quell has surprised me more than anything else. I remember his talking of the Capitol 'getting what they deserve', and yet- when the card was read out that time ago- his face didn't show any sign of happiness. Instead, he looked mortified.

-where are you Jude...? Why did you run now, of all times... just when I had saved you from it all... just when we can revel in the Capitol's loss... why have you decided to turn away and leave, now?

"...Aloe...?"

"Yes Cain?"

I reach to my left, pushing the swords handle back into my right hand as I take a step forward towards the mutilated dummy that lies threadbare in the dying grass.

"-let's go again."

"...okay Cain."

Just let me stop worrying about him, just for a few more minutes. Let me enjoy these games that everyone else keeps telling me are a gift to the Districts.

...and let Jude come back.

**

* * *

**

_Fae Opporan; 13 years; District 3._

Even though it's a bleak, dreary sort of day- the world over the electric fence looks more beautiful than ever to me. The clouds are stretching across the horizon, pulled all taught and wispy... it's like a thin blanket is stretched across the Earth.

...but how on Earth and I supposed to pain that?

Chewing on the end of my paintbrush, I take a moment to consider how to go about this. I could use a pencil to sketch out the horizon line, and then slowly move into marking the spots where the cloud is darker or lighter... or maybe I should just coat the cheap canvas with paint _before _I do any sketching...?  
For an artist, I'm not really that good. It's actually a hobby I only began to pick up more frequently a few months ago- but it's proving difficult. Everything I want to paint- scenery- is really hard.

"Hmm..." I lean against the sickly tree I've settled under, still contemplating the fence that runs before it. "Clouds are hard..."

To be completely honest... I'd rather not be out here sketching clouds, even though it is pretty beautiful out today. Nothing beats the comfort of my room, even if I do share it with my little brother Colt, but I just can't be at home today. Not with my whole family, rejoicing about 'the Capitol reapings'.

I should be over the moon there were no reapings this year. I mean, last year I almost worried myself sick- especially when I had all those nightmares that Trevet or Vella would be chosen. This year I don't have to worry about that, and it also means that Trevet can never be chosen again- since he'll be nineteen next year. Just... I can't help but feel awful inside.

Everyone hates the Hunger Games, and that I can completely agree with. But- when everyone starts hating the Capitol, jeering and whooping about how they're 'getting their medicine' by having their own children reaped... it makes me sad.  
The Hunger Games have turned us Districts into monsters who crave one another's blood. It's awful, and it makes me want to cry sometimes. It's hard not to cry now, thinking of all those Capitol kids who were picked.

-they never saw it coming. That girl from Sector 1 with the wings never thought she'd be chosen for the Hunger Games. Neither did that girl who collapsed in Sector 9, or the screaming girl in Sector 7. They're not like us here in the Districts. We grow up being told that one day, the reapings will happen, and if we're lucky- we'll never have to worry.

...but those girls... they're just like me... only they never had that warning.

I saw the quick 'recap' of the reapings before I left the house, and I know I'll be seeing the chariots when I get home this afternoon. All I can picture right now is that girl, from Sector 3- which is meant to be _my _District- staring out at the crowd with dilated eyes that just seemed to ask the entire world 'Why?'

No one can fake that look, and that's how I know she's just like me, and every other girl I've seen on stage at home here. All of them had that look- even the ones who did rather well in the Games. Their eyes would widen, their hands would scrunch together- and I could tell that inside, they were screaming.

Even the Capitol's children don't deserve to have that happen to them, even if my family and friends don't agree with me. Their kids didn't force us into the Hunger Games- their ancestors did, and they had no choice in what their great, great, great, great... great grandparents chose to do.

...just like we don't deserve to be killed for our ancestors revolting. Though, people will tell you- by that same logic- we wouldn't be able deserve to enjoy the perks of life if our rebellious ancestors _had_ succeeded.

"...oh what am I thinking," I sigh, letting the blank canvas fall to the ground. "... It's so pointless Fae..."

"-what's pointless sweetheart?"

I could've jumped. I recoil hard into the tree, yelping as an infamous young man that everyone in the District recognises smiles down at me coyly.

Tyla, winner of the one hundred and twenty second Hunger Games, and one of District 3's few remaining victors- winning at age fifteen. He's well known as an arrogant sort of fellow, yet word has gotten around that he turned down the offer to mentor the Capitol kids this year, instead giving it to forty-five year old Ava.

"M-Mister Tyla," I don't know what to do. The only time I've ever spoken with this guy was when he was buying wires in my parents' hardware shop, and that was only to say 'welcome'. "H-Hello-"

"Now why aren't you at home, watching the reapings like a good District 3 girl?" Tyla asks, raising a thick eyebrow with his smile still on his lips. "Felt sorry for the poor little Capitol children?"

"N-No..." My cheeks grow hot because of the close proximity he has to me. It doesn't matter who the guy is, if a boy is ever this close- I get flushed. "I... I thought it was nice out today..."

"You sound _just_ like my friend Taz," I breathe easier as Tyla leans back and stands up straight, still staring down at me with a smile. "He was going on about what a nice day it was too."

I have no idea what to say to that, so I smile anxiously as the victor begins to go on, as if we were old friends catching up. I'm a good deal younger than him, four years. Then again, I've heard my friend Korlin say he's flirted with her and my sister Vella too- though Tyla and Vella went to school together.

-perhaps that's why he's being so friendly to me?

"So what do you think of the Capitol's tributes for District 3?" Tyla's brown eyes have a strange feel to them. Friendly... but strange. "Do you think they'll go far?"

"I... I don't know..." I can feel myself ready to babble. "I mean... Th-they seem nice..."

This is true. The girl, 'Francesca' – didn't seem arrogant or cold, and the boy- I forget his name- had a look about him that seemed friendly. Almost perhaps, if I were to know them, they would be kind people.

"Don't get too attached now, they have the lowest odds of all the Sectors so far," I feel a chill as Tyla clicks his tongue. "Almost like every year, isn't it?"

No part of me wants to answer him. He's still talking, and it looks like he means to go on for quite some time. He must be the sort of fellow who doesn't need prompting in order to hold a conversation. Just someone or something to chat at.

I shift uncomfortably.

I don't like these Games, or this Quell. I'll be glad when it's over, and I don't have to feel so conflicted about everything anymore. Then maybe I can sketch the clouds with a smile.

...until then, I supposed I'll just suffer through Tyla's insufferableness.

"-don't you agree?"

**

* * *

**

_Melchoir Greystone; 17 years; District 4._

"This year is going to be like... sort of strange, isn't it?" Issy purses her lips and grips the fishing rod tighter in her hands. "I always thought I'd enjoy watching the Capitol kids pay their dues."

"They're still people..." I don't raise my voice when I speak, still focusing on the marker bobbing in the water. "...I guess they're a bit spoiled..."

When the card for the Quarter Quell was read out, I didn't really think much about it- because I never think about the Games. Yeah, I trained for the Games just like all the others do here, but I'm in no way planning to volunteer this year. I don't actually see the point in volunteering. You'll just get killed.

"I felt really bad watching the reapings though," With a sigh, she leans backwards, grip slackening. "Did you see the little twelve year olds? That boy from District 11 made me want to cry."

Issy has a younger brother. That's probably why.

"You guys are too soft hearted," Both of us turn around as Saylor's drawlish voice interrupts the air. "You need to rejoice in this like everyone else. My parents almost did a victory lap around the house when the card was read."

I laugh awkwardly under my breath as Issy frowns and looks away. Saylor has never been one to hide his true feelings- even though he's usually pretty quiet- which I guess is a good thing. It's how we came to be friends when everyone else was harassing me.

"So you don't feel bad for _any _of those kids?" Issy mutters, shooting our friend a hardened glare. "What about the Sector 4 ones?"

"Are you kidding?" Saylor shakes his head, swinging his legs over the side to sit beside me. "That Vinel guy? I don't think he's going to last one bit."

"Mmm...?" A smirk grows across Issy's lips. "What about the girl? Didn't she _remind _you of someone?"

Expecting a retort, I look over at Saylor- and I'm surprised to see red flushing across his cheeks. He looks away hurriedly, muttering derogatory words at Issy and her 'silly suggestions'.

-I can kind of tell what she's talking about though. The girl from Sector 4, Minerva- the engaged girl- she looks an awful lot like the girl Saylor has a thing for here. Her name is 'Killian van Perry'- and I'll admit that she's quite pretty, but I myself don't feel anything for her- perhaps because Saylor has for so long.

"There's nothing alike about them," Saylor growls after a few minutes. "Aside from the fact they're both girls."

"-oh? But I heard you were thinking of sponsoring her."

"What?" Saylor almost falls off the dock, spinning to face a giggling Issy. "Who told you that?"

"A little birdie told me." Issy sings, fluttering her eyelashes.

Saylor's narrowed eyes now turn to me, but I quickly shake my head- almost too quickly. He grunts in annoyance, turning back to the ocean where he stares out across the horizon.

"...so what if I do sponsor her...?"

The ocean's waves begin to gently fall back, lapping at the posts that hold us out of their reach. Both Issy and I feel our attention sway from our fishing as our friend- eyes filled with an emotion too distance for either of us to comprehend.

"...that girl is gonna get married... she's in _love_... so what if she's from the Capitol?" Saylor clenches his eyes tightly shut. "I... I can't deny that _that _fact means a lot to me."

There is no sound except for the softly crashing waves.

"I'm sorry," whispers Issy, clearly guilty. "I didn't know..."

As my two friends fall into a silence that is clearly not meant to be disturbed- I focus all my attention on the marker, still bobbing alone on the surface of the water. Whether I'm going to catch anything else today is beyond me, because in this moment I don't really know what to care about.

I've never been in love. As hard as I'm trying, I'm still pretty childish inside, so I don't understand exactly what Saylor is feeling- and I'm not sure if I ever will. Perhaps I won't, and that makes me feel a little empty inside right now- in this moment where love seems to mean an awful lot.

"...I'm glad that we have one less year to worry about everyone."

Issy smiles at Saylor and me, which we both return meekly. Out of all of District 4- the three of us are probably the least Hunger Games involved teenagers our age. Everyone else is pretty subscribed to training hard and the ideal of eventually 'winning' the Games- but we all somehow ignore it.

It's never been part of my 'plan'- then again- I've never had a plan.

"We're not to catch anything today," Issy sighs after a while, reeling in her line. "Come on, let's go home. They're broadcasting the chariots tonight after all."

"Oh..." I smile blithely. "I always liked them."

"Why?" Saylor raises an eyebrow- standing to his feet. "We're always bloody mermaids and mermen."

"-perhaps it's a fetish?" suggests Issy with a grin.

"Ugh, fish fetish? That's _real _sexy."

"You love it."

In a way, I'm quite thankful that Saylor and Issy are my friends. Only they could manage to make a day where our televisions start on a long course of showing us children forced to die... enjoyable.  
I know I'm not at all like they are. As hard as I try, I always come off sort of shy and awkward around people. But I know that- with their help- I'm getting better.

"Ah- Mel'!" I jolt in surprise as Issy lurches forwards. "Your line-!"

Off guard- I lunge for my fishing rod- but it's too late. Whatever has sunk its teeth into the bait is too strong- and the pole is sent skitting and skipping over the water as the creature escapes, pulling my rod along with it.

"Whoah!" Issy grabs my shoulder, staring wildly at the rod as it's pulled further and further away. "Maybe you caught a shark! Or some kind of whale!"

"Whales don't come this close to land." Saylor snarks- though he also looks pretty surprised.

"Oh... oh but Melchoir... your rod..." Issy suddenly looks downcast. "I'm so sorry..."

"I don't mind," I brush my legs off before standing upright, smiling kindly. "There are plenty more rods where that came from."

The girl looks at me, obviously confused.

"But doesn't it bother you that the fish made off with your fishing rod?" Issy stares at me.

I shake my head.

"Anything that strong deserves to keep living," I glance out to the ocean. My rod has long disappeared. "You know?"

The look she gives me says that she doesn't- but there's something in Saylor's expression that tells me that he fully understands I'm not talking about the fish.

...Good luck... Sector 4.

**

* * *

**

**Be sure to answer the 'Capitol Question' along with your review for your Sponsor points!**

**Capitol Question #001; which 'Sector' do _you_ think has the best chance of winning?**


	27. To Dress for Success

**A Vivid Note: **this chapter is approximately _eight thousand words long_. Yikes? Want to know what's more astounding than that? So will the next chapter be... and the one after that... and the one after that... and so on until we get to the games, where I'll probably drop to about a steady 5000.  
I have my work cut out for me. It's more than 1000 words per tribute. I know it's long, but I prefer for you to have nice, full updates then little snippy, unsatisfying pieces. It'll give you more to chew on while waiting for the next update.

As I mentioned earlier, I'm starting a 'Capitol Question' segment for each chapter to help encourage feedback. Please answer the questions in a review so I know what the audience's views are, as well as to gain 'sponsor points'. :) It'll help me a million times over, and you guys will have fun learning what each other thinks about the characters.

**Capitol Question #002; which characters do you personally connect _best _with?  
**

So, let's go! Pre-games tasks ahoy!  
Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Jason Blackheath; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 1._

None of this seems at all real. Only an hour ago I was standing alone in a crowd of thousands of other kids, waiting for the poor child who would have their named pulled from those glass balls.

And it was mine. Thousands of names, and it was _mine_.

I'm still numb from the realisation that I'm never going to see Amethyst again, or either of my sisters. All I have left of them is the beaded bracelet I have claimed as my token, hanging limply from my arm. It's the only fragment I have left to remind me of life before being reaped.

Even now, I'm unable to speak. I haven't actually spoken since that final 'I love you too' I had whispered to my crying girlfriend. The short ride from Sector 1 to the remake centre was dead silent, aside from the occasional and _highly _unnecessary reassurance from the escort that 'even though this is all unfair, we can at least try not to look like sore losers, isn't that right?'

Sore losers? Really? I was hardly surprised that the remark prompted the tiny winged Liotta to sob quietly, and I tried to hide my disgust behind a thin mask of indifference. I probably didn't do too well, since the pink haired escort kept her mouth closed for the rest of the trip.

-I was taken by the scruff of my collar the second I got out of the ride, given no time to even think of saying goodbye to the escort or Liotta, and taken upstairs by a red headed man who looked vaguely like a skyscraper. 'Lurco' announced himself as my stylist, and he pushed me into this hairdresser-style chair which I haven't moved from since.  
There's no desire in me to argue with the man's ideas for my appearance, and this trait is apparently shared by the rest of my prep team. Lurco has a team of three helpers that just sort of stand about as he tells them what to do. Even now, as I stare blankly ahead- I can only hear his gruff voice, going unopposed.

"I like the hair," he says, lifting my fringe with his thumb and forefinger. "Perhaps we cut it a little at the back, make it even, wax his forearms, remove the freckles and administer some golden eye contacts to hide the green-"

His fairy helpers lurch into action. I begin chewing on my tongue a little to calm my nerves, as well as to hold back any urge that might overtake me while they're redecorating me. Sadly this is a huge mistake, as I'm still clamping down on my tongue when they administer the first wax strip to my arm- and in the blinding moment of pain I bite down hard.

"-GAH-"

"Don't bite your tongue," my eyes water as Lurco smiles in a snarky sort of manner. "This is just the start boy; you're getting the full body wax."

I can't help but gag. My eyes water and my skin smarts as layer after layer of hot melted wax is smoothed over even the thinnest of body hairs and subsequently _ripped _away with harsh strokes.  
By the time my arms are done, I'm still clenching my teeth and trying to ignore what tastes a lot like blood from biting my tongue so hard. It doesn't help that Lurco seems to be deriving some sort of sick pleasure watching me sit and twitch from the lightest pluck of the tweezers.

"-Don't know how you're going to handle the implants if you can't handle this boy-"

_What?_

I stiffen in my seat. Lurco looks at me with a perplexed stare as I begin to stammer.

"I-Implants? What implants?"

Lurco chuckles, and I can feel the panic in my soul rising. I'm terrified of meeting my 'opponents', and what's going to happen to me in the games- but suddenly I'm faced with a much more immediate fear.  
I never thought that the chariot ride, the one portion of the Hunger Games I could always stomach- could possibly be terrifying in itself.

Implants?

"We would like you and the girl to be a matching pair," Lurco says simply, raising his already arched eyebrows. "Understand?"

For a few blissful seconds I don't. Then I picture Liotta and I feel my internal organs shift with a sickening jolt.

The wings_... Liotta's wings_.

' _-you and the girl to be a matching pair-_'

He's going to surgically implant wings in my back? He can't do that-!

"-before you start complaining, keep in mind that your mentor approved the idea," Lurco lowers himself down to my eye level, measuring the newly cropped fringe as I struggle to remember how to breathe. "Perhaps a little more off the front, Plata-?"

I am given no time to argue back. All too quickly a pair of scissors is chopping away at the stray hairs of my fringe- glinting maliciously before my eyes like a sort of silent but deadly warning. My body is shaking and my eyes follow Lurco as he walks across the room and opens a doorway.

"Ah, she looks marvellous!" I can't see who the guy is talking to, but judging from the situation- I'm guessing it's Liotta and her stylist. "Come in, we're almost finished with the initial prepping- we just have the wings and then we'll get them all dressed up-"

The helper backs away from me, and I take my moment to lock eyes with the very disheartened girl I had watched walk up to the stage on the verge of tears. Even now she still looks like she just might begin sobbing all over again.

Liotta's long hair has been lopped off to just past her shoulders, and her little feathery wings have been adorned with flecks of golden paint. To top it all off, her eyes- which I distinctly remember as being blue- are now a very pale, and very fake, gold.  
She's wearing a dress, made of intricate, tiered lace. The many folds are decorated with diamonds, and blue gemstones I can't remember the name of. However the flecks of gold that coat her wings also coat the dress in large golden painted splodges.

Tacky, but in lieu of how District 1 usually looks. They'll hate us for sure.

"...Hi."

It's all I can think to say, and it's obvious she can't manage to say anything at all. We don't exactly know each other, but we've been forced into these games together- meaning only we can possibly understand what the other is currently feeling. Aside from the other tributes I suppose... but no one is going to sympathise with us; the two _winged_ tributes from Sector 1.

However I can't feel too badly for her- since I'm doing my best not to hate her parents. Because of their choice to give her wings, I'm now going to be forced into being a matching set with her.

-But I'm surprised by the guilt upon her face. Perhaps she already knows the situation, somehow. My fingers twinge a little as I force a painful smile to try and reassure her that I don't hold any hard feelings for what's about to happen. That's I don't hold her accountable for the pain I'm going to endure.  
The tiny girl doesn't smile back. But, while our two stylists chatter to one another- I hear a feeble whisper escaping her lips.

"_I'm sorry_."

**

* * *

**

_Natalia Marinos; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 2._

"No! Get your fingers away from my eyes- I won't wear them-!"

The tray laden with the coloured contacts clatters to the floor with an ear-splitting crash. On my feet and breathing through my gritted teeth- I stare furiously up at the woman who had only moment ago declared herself one of my stylists.  
The room is dead with silence. My outburst was obviously unexpected- and I can almost see the fear in their eyes. They certainly hadn't counted on a Capitol tribute being so resistant.

-I don't care. I hadn't counted on _being _a Capitol tribute, and I don't care if I'm making things difficult for them. Screw them. These stylists; these bloody _beauticians_ who see me only as a medium to get themselves noticed. I hate them. I hate them so _much_.

"Miss Marinos..." I twinge as the curly sea-green haired woman speaks; the one who had held the tray. "You have to wear contacts... we have to match you and your Sector partner-"

"You're not touching my eyes!" I spit. I kick the tray angrily with my foot, sending the woman skitting backwards as it bangs against her leg. "You can cut off my hair, dye me ridiculous colours, pluck my stray hairs and you can dress me up in whatever ridiculous outfits you damn well like- but you _won't touch my eyes_-!"

I sound hysterical, but I don't care. I hate them, and their despicable belief that they're free to do whatever they like to me because it's their job. How _dare _they.

"–Natalia," I whip around to see my head stylist, the brown haired 'Esca', staring at me with his arms crossed- but his eyes filled with a panicked dismay. "Don't make this more difficult than it needs to be."

Fury. My hands curl into fists so tightly that I can feel my nails digging into the skin of my palms. Gritting my teeth and tugging at the white robe they had donned me with- I struggle to put my anger into constructive words.

"Oh I'm _sorry_," I hiss, pulling at the hem of the doctor's robe. "Am I making this _difficult _you bastard? I should be _happy _I'm going to die- _shouldn't_ I-you insensitive-!"

"Natalia!" I recoil as Esca suddenly barks. "Fine! No contacts! In fact, dress in your own clothes- then see how many sponsors you get when you're so rigid you won't even play the game properly!"

His words don't make me feel guilty, but I do feel a tiny bit of panic when I remember the protocol for the parade. In the car ride I had forgotten everything that I'm going to go through before the games begin, and what it all means.  
I'm trying to get sponsors. I might have already lost some by taking so long to get up to the stage. Who's to say what will happen if I walk up onto that chariot wearing buckle dress I couldn't even breathe in? Will my popularity drop even further, further ruining my chances for sponsors-?

My silence seems to be the answer Esca was hoping for, because he suddenly calms down. I still feel completely frustrated with all of this ridiculous chariot preparation, but now my feelings are completely mixed up with this new wave of dread.  
I can't afford to lose sponsors. Sponsors could be the thin line that keeps me alive in that arena waiting out there for me. I can't risk that line over something like pride.

-I can't risk my Mother over pride.

"...I'm... sorry..."

The words are bitter in my mouth, and I'm positive that no one in the room believes them, but it doesn't matter. I sit back down in the chair, clutching my robe for some thinly veiled source of comfort. As one of the stylists gingerly approaches me with a make-up brush- I see her side step around the fallen tray of contacts.  
For the following ten minutes- it lies there untouched- until I finally look back down and find that it's been taken away while my focus was on the ceiling.

"A bit more grey," Esca mutters every now and again. "Silver- add some more silver there-"

After what seems like an hour- my entire body feels heavy with the chemicals. The green haired woman had taken away my robe and sprayed me with a dull grey coat of paint- and then the other woman re-sprayed me with another shade. The whole time I keep my eyes fixed on Esca- who occasionally glances me up and down and twirls his finger- indicating for another layer.

It doesn't take long before I realise what they're going for with the grey paint and make-up. District 2 holds a variety of stone quarries- so I suppose they're making me out to be made of stone.

Wow. _So _creative. Bravo Esca, you complete moron.

Still, it's better than having to stand up on a chariot wearing leaves or berries. At least this portrays me as something strong, something that won't break under little pressure. The crowd will see me as Natalia Marinos, the girl of stone.

...sounds kind of cool. I guess.

I'd enjoy it more if I wasn't so pissed off.

"Esca- we've got the boy out here."

Instinctively- my hands roll into fists as I see the door across the room slide open. The woman dabbing at my face with a sponge scuttles away to get a look at the other side's work- but before I can even think of sneaking a look- Esca is forcibly holding me still and threatening to poke my eye out with an eyeliner pencil.

"-you can see him when we're done with you," His voice is gentle, but his eyes are filled with poison. I stare angrily back at him. "Behave."

For a second I don't know why he's being so forceful- but then I remember hearing Missy, the green haired escort for our Sector, chatter about how cold my smile to him was on stage. Apparently I'm already marked to be a danger in the games.

-I'm a little glad. I'd rather be seen as a danger than a pushover. Maybe then my Mother will regain some hope that I'm not dead yet.

"The crowd is going to love them," One of Marshall's styling team is whispering excitedly. "I think we've designed the strongest team."

Team? I almost snort. I wouldn't pair up with that pathetic boy any day. For all his scars and muscles- I can tell he's a no hoper. Still, let them enjoy their little delusion that we're a 'team'-

"_Please_, I'd never _team_ up with a girl like her."

...

What?

There's a twinkle of amusement in Esca's eyes as he draws away, allowing my expression of mild surprise to be visible by all. Sure enough, Marshall Mathews; made of stone and donning a thick leather belt and artfully torn black jeans, smiles dryly in my direction.

"...what...?" I say again, my voice barely higher than a whisper- struggling to contain my pent-up frustration. "-what did you say?"

"I said- I'd _never_ team up with a girl like you." Marshall repeats slowly and clearly - enunciating each word as he runs his fingers back through his black hair. "You've obviously never drawn blood in your life, and judging by the way your Mother kicked up a fuss... no one has _any_ faith you can win."

-is this boy for real? I can feel my body go stiff with anger as I rise out of my seat, not caring that the robe that covers me can open up for my entire body to be seen by him.

"-and you have?" I hiss- breathing heavily as my entire body begins to shake with anger. "I'd _never _team up with you- you- you absolute-"

I can't finish the sentence. The anger is too much- and it's all I can do not to lunge at him and smack that stupid smirking face of his. Esca and the other stylists are steering clear- obviously in shock that this exchange is taking place so early between two tributes.  
Suddenly, the simpering look on his face fades into a blank stare as my fists shake by my sides. I watch as the boy made of stone glances me up and down- before focusing on my eyes and saying-

"No... Perhaps I was wrong to say that so callously..."

My teeth stop gritting together as I await his next words. He should know that he's in a very dangerous position- and from the rigid way his body is, I think he does know that.  
And for a second, Marshall Mathews almost looks placid before his face contorts into a snide jeer.

"You could hardly count as a _girl._"

And then it snaps.

It barely registers in my head what I'm doing before the room is filled with shrieks as I lunge for Marshall with my hands outstretched- nails flying for his throat.

"NATALIA-!"

**

* * *

**

_Holland Wickbird; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 3._

Disappointment. I'm trying not to let it get to me, but it's too strong a feeling to ignore. Even now, when I should be enjoying the fact that a team of four stylists are catering to my every side, all I can do is try to ignore this dull ache inside me as they dye dark grey lowlights into my hair.

I wasn't given my father as a stylist. I had been given a team of newcomers; very strange newcomers even- who had accents that could not be described as Capitolian.

"Obviously, we could not get your papa to style you- 'ow unfair would it be?" My main stylist lulls quietly to me, gently coiling the foil around my hair. "-after all, 'e is a mastermind- an arteest- 'e would favour you too much- oh no, no, no-"

"-do not worry though, we are also fan_tastic _stylists," another stylist on hand is painting my nails a light blue. "-And we 'ave fan_tastic _ideas for you Monsieur 'olland."

"That's... that's good..." I want to appreciate their efforts, but the letdown of not having my father is still hanging over my head. "...so... what's the- the idea for Francesca and me?"

Plan. I don't like that word anymore, especially since I'm going to need to come up with a really vital one over the next five days. If I don't- I'm going to get killed for sure.

"Fran-chess-ca?" The woman doing my nails looks puzzled. "'oo is he-? Ah, ze partner? Yes, yes- as you know- we 'ave been stuck with ze less than glamorous _factory _Deestrict-" I can see a disappointment similar to mine upon her face. "-but we will make it work, we 'ave the theme of _smoke _and the light-ed windows-"

Somehow, it probably sounded more impressive in her head. To me, the idea sounds absolutely terrible. How is anyone supposed to make smoke and windows... _glamorous_?

"That's... that's really great," Why couldn't I have lived in a different Sector? The only plus is that I'm not alone in this awful game. I have Francesca. I just wish that I had my Dad too...

"Um... c-can I... can I ask you something?"

With a satisfied smile, the head stylist draws away from my hair, her fingers still poised in their work. "Yes darling, you may ask."

"Erm..." I set myself up for more disappointment. I tell myself that they already don't know the answer. "Do you... do you know what District my father is-"

"Styling for?" I close my mouth as the woman smiles kindly down at me. "Why of _course _darling Monsieur 'olland, I can tell you who is styling each Deestrict this year."

"Oh!" In a heartbeat, I feel a strange hope begin to expand like a balloon in my chest. "C-Can you tell me which District-?"

"Number eight, but pleeze-" The woman's eyes hold a strange kind of warmth, as if she knows that I want to go see him. "-Wait until a better time to try and see 'im, after all- technically you are not allowed."

Of course I'm not. I remember my Father telling me on numerous occasions of tributes stealing away into one another's floors to lie in wait and pounce before the games begin. Perhaps a stylist has even been attacked before, to stop a tribute looking too good.

...I hope that doesn't happen this year.

"D-Don't worry, I'm just curious..." I look down at my toes, all the way at the end of the chair. They've been painted a slate sort of grey- almost blue. "Thank you..."

Every pampered part of me wants nothing more than to jump from this chair and find him right now. I didn't get to say goodbye to him after all, and knowing that he's in this building- so close- it's like I'm wasting the opportunity.  
He's not going anywhere though. There's plenty of time for me to... 'get lost' and say goodbye to him. Plenty of time... five days, to be more... accurate...

"Oh-oh! Monsieur, Frannie is 'ere, take a look at 'er!"

"U-Uh... call me Chess, not... 'Frannie'..."

As I look up, I'm met by a surprisingly cheerful, familiar smile. Francesca, or 'Chess' as she had whispered to call her in the car, looks pretty good for someone painted slate grey from head to toe. I only take a few seconds to take in what she's wearing, a form-fitting cotton dress with lots of little yellow squares patterned across.  
I think the squares represent the windows the stylists imagine factories to have- which I'm fairly sure they don't have. But Chess doesn't mind and she's grinning and bending this way and that to flaunt her outfit.

"We're going to look _so _good Holly," she takes a moment to put emphasis on each word before winking at me. "They're going to love us, and I met our mentor- she's _really _friendly- Ava? Anyway, she says that she'll help us out with our training and coach us and stuff- so uh..." Her voice slowly fades as she stares at me. "Um... I'm sorry... I shouldn't be so... 'peppy' about this huh...?"

"No, no it's okay," I shake my head, smiling awkwardly at her. "It's a nice change. One of us should be."

An odd sort of smile curls across her lips.

"No dear Holly, _both of us _should be." She takes a step forwards, taking my hands in hers. "Look, we're classmates- and I think that makes us friends. So we're going to partner up and do everything we can to get us _both _home!"

Chess looks at me for some sort of overjoyed reaction, but all I can do is stammer in surprise.

"-Both-?"

"Yes!" Chess shakes my hands reassuringly. "They almost did it once, right? And come on- they already feel bad for us since we're Capitol kids- we'll just tweak at their hearts a bit more- it'll be a cake-walk!"

"...cake-walk?" I snort, unable to stop the smile growing on my face. "You really think so Chess?"

"I _know _so," She winks again. "We're going to bring District and Sector 3 home the win this year, which means we'll both get to live. Trust me."

Something in her smile makes me feel like it's completely safe to trust her. There's no malice or hidden agenda there. Francesca was never one to bully me in school, and was always... really friendly. There's something about her that makes me feel that if anyone can leave these games alive- it's us.

So I wink back at her.

"Let's win these games Chessie."

"Now you're talking!"

**

* * *

**

_Minerva Nanaia; 18 years; the Capitol Sector 4._

I won't be so dishonest to say it's the first time someone has seen me stark naked- and that it ever really meant a lot to me who saw me without clothes- but I have to admit that standing here, in the middle of a room with multiple strangers surveying my skin and figure after completely waxing me- in the cold air-conditioned air of a foreign room... it's humiliating.

"She has nicely sized breasts, so we'll work with that." I can hear the leading woman say, whose name I haven't cared to remember. "Perhaps... some sea-shells and body-glue?"

The group of stylists have made it painfully obvious what direction they're going in for the chariots. The moment I walked in the room I caught sight and smell of the bundle of sea-weed and beach shells piled up on a chair in the corner- and I knew in that moment that I had not been given design masterminds.

-Mermaids have been done almost a hundred times over.

'Fish-people' have always been a designer favourite for District 4, and since my home fell inside Sector 4- apparently I'm the representative for the adjacent District. So seconds after learning to breathe with the rank stench of rotting ocean weeds suffocating me- I was stripped bare of my reaping dress and forced to stand here while the stylists observed me.

"Her hair looks good naturally, so we can leave in the waves- dye the streak back-" the woman steps a bit too close for my liking, running her hand under my hair. "-braid in some of the seaweed, perhaps a starfish?"

No one looks me in the eye. It's like I'm not really here. The urge to cross my arms across my chest is agonising, but I repress it as best I can while the team of stylists bustle about the room for different tools and fabrics. I'd very much like to sit down, and I'm starting to feel quite cold standing here like a lump.

"So glad this one isn't _purple_," I hear one of them sigh- shaking the sand out of something that looks like fishing net. "Are they going to bleach that off? He's going to look _awful _standingnext to her."

"I don't know, but I hope so." The head stylist's hand appears from behind me, cupping me under the chin. "Miss Nanaia, your eyes are a little on the puffy side- so we're going to redo your make-up."

"Okay." I don't want to fight back. It won't do me any good.

Once I'm sitting down once again, being completely naked steadily loses its frightening quality and just seems to begin feeling a little out of the ordinary. I'm thankful when my sensitive areas are masked with various shells and marine plants- but less thankful that I wasn't trusted to put them on myself.

"Sorry we're so hands on- but it _is_ our job." A very feminine looking male chips in. "We'd hardly have earned our pay if we just let you put everything on."

To be honest I don't think they deserve to be paid for running their hands all over my body- but I can't say it's as bad as I thought it'd be. I'm not half as worried of being sexually abused now as I had panicked before in the car ride here. I've always adored the design aspect of the games- but now that I'm here in the room, it's starting to lose its appeal.

-I can only hope that Game making isn't as misleading.

Things don't get that much worse once I'm donning the sea-shells. I'm forced to stand again as they wrap fishing net around my legs as some sort of sarong, which is threaded with artfully placed seaweeds and coral pieces to cover up what the sea-shells might have missed.

"-Maybe some fishing line to work as a brassiere wire-"

"-Are we going to go ahead with the fish-scale bracelet-?"

"Ah! We're running out of seaweed-!"

Slowly but surely, a smile returns to my face as I watch my little stylist helpers scurry about the room- carrying armfuls of odd sea-based materials as they call out to one another for whatever the next concern is. However whatever problems arise are quickly fixed- and by the end of what seems to be the longest period of my life- the main woman stylist pulls away from me with a shimmering skin pencil and sighs happily- the rest of the team behind her smiling at what I hope is a good end result.

"-you look amazing Miss Nanaia." She puts a cap on the pencil, letting it roll away. "They're going to love you to pieces... want to see?"

"Sure." I stand to my feet- and I'm a little surprised as one of the other female stylists takes my hand and leads me toward a mirror at the back of the prepping room.

"-Ah, wait- wait!" The two of us stop as the male yelps. "Finishing touches- finishing touches-!"

There's a sudden whirl of white and pink- and my eyesight vanishes. I squeak rather uncharacteristically in a panic as something moves along one of my fingers- and all too quickly I'm being pulled blindly towards the mirror.

"Minerva Nanaia, say hello to the winner of the fifth Quarter Quell-!"

-With a swift motion, the white fishing net is swept up and over my head, and I can feel my eyes widen in complete shock at the unknown beautiful visage that now stares back at me.

"Oh my..."

They've made me into ocean bride.

Atop my head is a veil made out of a fake lattice looking fishing net, complete with glittering pink starfish and what looks like some form of bright blue water-lily in full bloom. Its edges fall neatly about my shoulders and chest- masking my breasts and complimenting the white sarong that ties around my legs.

It's like some unconventional- but thoroughly _beautiful _wedding gown.

"We heard that you were married," the woman hushes as I continue to stare. "That's why we thought, that when styling you- we should never let the crowd forget that."

I can't speak. No, it's more like I don't want to speak- to say anything and shatter the breathtaking illusion that's staring back at me like some form of dream.

"Sorry we made you take off your ring for the waxing- but you can keep it on from this moment onwards," I feel the man lift up my hand, allowing me to recognise the band that had gone missing from my finger without my realising it. "Wear it with pride- you're the most beautiful bride any of us have ever seen."

Part of me quietly wonders if they're lying, or trying to butter me up to like them- but it pales away for the much larger part of me that still can't believe that I could ever be made beautiful like this- when I was so sure it'd be terrible.  
Vidar will see me wearing this. Oh Vidar... I hope he doesn't cry. I hope it makes him smile instead... make him confident that I'll receive sponsors and survive this game.

"Let's not celebrate yet, we've still got work to do!"

While the team of stylists snap back into action- I share a moment with my reflection. Our eyes meet, and a tiny flicker of a smile touches my lips.

Just you watch Vidar. I told you... I promise to come home.

**

* * *

**

_Laco Sykora; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 5._

I don't even pay attention to the stylists as they jabber about what to do with 'my image'. They're thinking of getting rid of the zebra stripes apparently, and they've already shaved all my hair off. Perhaps I might have argued against this back home; since it's hard to blend in and be ignored unless you look slightly strange, but I don't need to care about my hair and my alterations anymore.

Not like I'll be living much longer anyway. I can only hope that my family will be slightly comforted to have a presentable looking corpse to bury.

"You're a quiet one," I hear the head stylist say, who is a rather gender neutral looking woman, if I had to describe her. "What are you thinking about in there?"

"Nothing much..." I'm not lying. I'm hardly deep in thought. "How much longer?"

"Well not much more today, but we'll be soaking your tattoos off before the interviews," the woman runs her hands over my freshly shaven head. "We'll try to make it as painless as possible for you..."

What does it matter? I'm going to be killed in some terrible, unknown way very shortly- why shouldn't I get used to the pain now? My purpose in these games isn't to live after all. She knows that.

"-so what do you think of this situation?" My glance flicks up to the coy smile on the head stylist's lips. "_A-ri Saint-Claire_." She flaunts each syllable as my shoulders go rigid. "Almost like a dream, isn't it? You excited?"

My hands clench. I do my best to let the annoyance die quietly in my head, but my throat gurgles as I forget to swallow. Perhaps my feelings are too obvious, because the woman chortles at me as her helped hands over a make-up sponge.

"Now now, don't get too upset..." She begins to make soft, smooth brushing strokes over my cheeks. "I wasn't insinuating anything... though it'd be a cute couple, that's for sure..."

"I thought you said you _weren't _insinuating anything." I growl, unable to hold it back.

"I'm not." Her eyes meet mine for a moment before returning to her strokes. "I think we need some black eyeliner?"

"Gotcha."

Well at least I know what I'm in for. This is just the beginning of what's going to happen. Ari's a young star, and they're going to blow her media image out of proportion while they still can. Of _course _they're going to pair her up with any and every male of these games.

-why this annoys me is vague, though I assume it's because I still think of her as one of the few pure examples of beauty left in the Capitol. Why does the Capitol insist on tainting that?

George had made a rather snide remark about that in the ride to the remake centre. Something about 'teenage hormones' that made me feel even angrier. Just the fact that it was her, the woman who had played a part in sabotaging the draw so Ari would be pulled, that just made the whole ride even more unbearable.

Ari said nothing the whole ride, and neither did I. After we shook hands, there was really no time to say anything else. The Peacekeeper came bursting into the tent seconds later and starting barking about 'no interacting between tributes'.  
So we haven't spoken since then. I remember looking at her out of the corner of my eye though, but I didn't notice much change in her. She still seemed a little shaken.

Can't imagine what she's going to think when I finally get around to telling her about what George did. I'm a little worried about how to go about that actually.  
What if she cries? Or what if she's angry that I didn't tell her right away instead of that shaking hands deal? It'll be harder to keep her alive if she's bent on hating me.

Not impossible. Just... harder.

-and what about the traitorous escort in question, George? Surely she wouldn't be too pleased with Ari knowing about the sabotage. It brings lots of questions to mind... the most vicious of which being that she'll sabotage _our _chances in the arena...

"-look up for me Laco," I jolt in the seat as the woman holds the black eyeliner pencil aloft. "This will only take a little bit-"

The whole process is mind numbingly painful. Not _physically_- but the entire act is tedious enough to make me want to openly groan. They're dressing Ari and me up for the chariot ride, and since we're the Capitol counterpart of District 5- they're donning us in outfits reflecting the oil mining business.

-How they're going to make Ari Saint-Claire, easily one of the only naturally beautiful girls left in the Capitol, look good in the world's most morally ugly substance confounds me.

Suddenly- a voice sings out from the hallway-

"Take a look at what I did~"

But apparently I won't have to wonder for long.

The sound of the prep room's door opening alert my team of style artists to all squeal and babble on queue- indicating that whatever they did to Ari- apparently it's favourable. Very favourable.  
Unconsciously- I move to take a look myself- only for the woman with the eyeliner to cluck in a reprimanding tone and shove me back down into the seat.

"You can take a look at her when I'm done with this," she looks at me with a coy smile. "So steady on now Romeo."

Romeo? Thank god no one else heard it, because they're all too busy chattering over how Ari in her chariot outfit turned out. I catch the words 'radiant' and 'super wonderful'- which begs me to wonder what exactly happened to Capitol vocabularies- but I can't hear Ari saying anything.

"...and done." My eyes feel heavier with the sudden load of ink on them. "Hey, Ari darling, take a look at the gorgeous partner we did up for you~"

Now I'm not usually one to feel things like embarrassment, or even one to cringe- but as the woman slides away and I see the pair of black heels steadily walking towards me- I genuinely feel like sinking into the floor and disappearing forever.

Then I look up.

"Hello," Ari's voice is quiet, and quite soft. "-you look... nice"

It's hard to say anything. How can I say anything? It's like I'm staring into the sun- I want to look away but it's too dazzling. Somehow I manage a croaky greeting I don't really acknowledge as the stylists gaggle and fluster about us.

"She's _beautiful _isn't she?" I can hear her male stylist purr. "I'm having so much fun with this one."

Beautiful is... it's certainly an understatement. Ari looks at me in a bashful way that looks so unlike her, it's like seeing a whole other side of her. The side I'm sure so few people have seen. It's not the idol that had been paraded about- but the real Ari.

-the one I want to save for the world.

I didn't notice how light Ari's skin was before now. The black silk dress just seems to dance about her thigh, with cascades of droplet like beads hanging from her arms, neck and her waist. To represent the drops of oil of District 5... I guess. The only similarity I can see is that they're both black. Coupled with her strawberry blonde hair, she looks like a ghost.  
-And it's strange, but I can see that her eyes are no longer the bright shade of blue they had been in the tent. They're now a very peculiar shade of grey.

-What makes it strange is that I hadn't noticed that I knew the color of Ari's eyes.

"So..." She doesn't smile. I'm not surprised, since her head stylist is a man, and she's probably still feeling uncomfortable. "...dreading this?"

"...not really..." I'm still reeling from her appearance, but I come off sounding disgruntled. "It's just a parade... we'll be okay."

Ari apparently wasn't expecting that, because her eyes widen. I suddenly feel a little guilty for pushing this 'together' idea on her so hard so soon. I want to protect her, but not if it makes her final days uncomfortable. She might misconstrue my intentions. My gaze drops to the floor as the awkward silence passes.

"Yeah..." I stiffen in surprise as a tiny giggle escapes her. "Yeah... we'll be fine..."

-a hand reaches out to my shoulder, causing me to jerk back in alarm. I'm completely taken aback to look up and find Ari Saint-Claire's face smiling almost playfully- inches away from my own. She's so close. I could count each of her eyelashes if I wanted to.  
I can feel her exhaling, she's that close. It's uncomfortable, but as she draws away I feel an ache in my chest wishing for her to come back again.

I try to smile. Whether or not I succeed is unknown, because Ari continues to give me that same charming smile I've seen all over our borough- plastered over posters, television ads and any other media.

-and it's killing me, because it's not real. Sure it's charming, but it's not real.

It's her pained, fake smile.

"-we're doing this together after all, isn't that _right_?"

Her words might have lifted my spirit if I was naive, but I'm still haunted by the smile staring me in the face. That smile I've grown to hate, because it represents all that is wrong with today's society; all that's gone wrong with beauty like hers.

"Yeah... right."

When I keep her alive... I hope she never has to smile like that again.

**

* * *

**

_Faye-Anna Cholores; 14 years; the Capitol Sector 6._

"Let's get one thing straight sweetheart, from here on out, _quit_ being bulimic."

Who said that therapy was a long, arduous process? According to my stylist Wezsa- he's just sent me off on the road to recovery.

"You're almost as bad as the District children," the man growls, plucking a hair from my head and twirling it between his fingers. "Your hair is like straw, your skin is almost blemished beyond repair- and your teeth... oh Faye-Anna sweetheart, you're meant to take care of those little choppers..."

At first I'm a little surprised he hasn't said anything about me being shockingly underweight- but then I remember that this is the Capitol- and 'thin is in', even when you're almost a skeleton with skin draped around your bones. Sure, I'm not that far gone yet- but give me a few more years with my disorder and I'm sure I'll get there by eighteen.

"I'm sorry." It's all I can really think of saying right now.

"It's alright sweetheart, it's not like you woke up this morning thinking this is where you'd be by the end of the day..." Wezca pulls out some measuring tape and, without even a hint of embarrassment, wraps it around my chest. "Just do your best not to hate me for my career path."

This request coupled with the flicker of a smirk pulls a tiny fractured laugh to escape my chest. I don't know how he does it, but Wezca has managed to put me at ease in what I can only assume is going to be one of the most traumatic events of my life.  
-I say _one of _because this is just the chariot ride after all. I don't think any amount of charm will make me feel better come the Games themselves.

"-would you like to know what you will be wearing, or is the movie playing in your head interesting enough?"

"Eh?" A blush floods my cheeks as I come back to reality. "I-I'm sorry... I'm just a little..."

"Please, stop apologising," Wezca chortles to himself as he jots something down on a piece of scrap paper. "You're in the games sweetheart, now isn't the time to be polite. There are more important things to focus on."

Though his words are true, they hurt for me to hear because he's right.

"-Wezca, I think it's time we see _exactly _what we're dealing with?"

I'm a little surprised hearing one of the prep team speak up- especially in such an impatient tone- but I'm even more alarmed when a pair of hands comes out from behind me and begins unzipping the back of my dress. I bolt forwards in my panic, and there's a cry as the material rips away in their hands.

"Stop, stop-!" Wezca leaps forwards, holding me by the shoulders as I begin grabbing for the back of my dress, catching sight of the stunned woman behind me. "-Faye, sweetheart- we have to take this off so we can prepare you for your costume."

"Well you c-could've asked-!" I squeak, my stomach churning as I see that my dress has torn deep towards the hem. My underwear is showing. "Where can I get changed-?"

An awkward silence answers my question- as well as several slightly apprehensive looks between the stylists of Wezca's team. Taking his time to find the right words, Wezca retracts his hands from my shoulders.

"Sweetheart, erm- when we do this business each year... _we _do the changing for our tributes," Wezca's voice drops to a whisper, as if he's embarrassed. "First we analyse the basics, then we strip them down, wax them of any excess hair- and then we start with the... _changing_."

"...what...?" Inside my head, the cogs are starting to spark and spit in the early stages of panic. "-I-I... I don't... I can't... I can't be n-_naked_..."

The words 'each year' resonate inside my head, making my now exposed back feel very, _very _cold in the open air.

"You have nothing we haven't seen before," says the older woman who tore my dress. "Trust me Miss Cholores, you're in safe hands."

If this woman actually believes that's what I'm worrying about, she's not nearly as smart as her age is trying to make her out to be. Stutters and babbling noises come out of my mouth as I attempt to express just how uncomfortable the idea of being without clothes makes me.  
Apparently my discomfort is apparent to the woman- because the intensity behind her eyes heightens enormously until I have to drop my gaze to the floor. Her heel turns on the cold tiling as she strides over to Wezca.

"-this is pointless, we're running out of valuable time here Wezca," Her voice has lost all the falsities of before. "For Christ's sake, just strip the girl down already."

"Ocella, if you continue like this you can sit out- you'll still get paid." A cold shiver runs down my spine. Wezca's voice is suddenly harsh and unnerving. "I refuse to treat Capitol children like we do the Districts'."

"-why?" the older woman, Ocella, snorts- as she faces him with her nostrils flaring. "They're going to _die _like District rats- so let's just get her bloody dressed already-"

"Ocella-!" a pair of hands pulls me back protectively as one of the other stylists squeaks. "You can't be so- so _loutish _towards her! She's our responsibility-"

"She's not _mine_," I can almost smell the poison in Ocella's voice. "I volunteered to come out of retirement because I thought this year would give me something decent to work with- but this girl is about as haggard as those District mongrels I quit from."

Perhaps if I wasn't so busy piecing together the parts of this scenario I could scavenge- I'd have felt more insulted by this woman's words. Apparently 'Ocella' has been a retired stylist for a while- and only came out of retirement because of this Quell...?

"If you're going to spew your bitterness around, you can very well leave," Wezca gestures towards the door. "I don't care for any member of my prep team insulting our model."

...model? The simple word causes the heat to rise up in my cheeks. This man thinks of me as a... oh, stop it right now Faye. This really isn't the time for me to be flattered though. Not with this woman looking as if she's going to blow like a volcano at any moment.

"Fine," she spits, tearing off what looks like an access pass. "Screw your job- I hope you take pride in being the most disappointing style team this year."

"I'll be sure to mention you in our thank you speech." Though his voice is still swimming in distaste, the smile that reappears on his face looks genuine. "Thank you."

Ocella says nothing, but the access pass falls to the floor with a patter- released from her hand in a somehow of threatening sort of way. Her heels clack towards the door, and as she throws one final grave look over her shoulder at Wezca- her gaze falls onto me.  
A cold chill sends ripples of goosebumps up my arms. It shows on my face, and Ocella smirks dully.

"I hope your volunteer boy tears you up."

My legs shake beneath me as Wezca storms forwards to reprimand her- but all words suddenly take a backseat to her threat echoing in my head- again and again with more intensity each repetition-

_"-Tears you up-"_

_ "-Tears you up-"_

_ "-TEARS YOU UP-"_

With a cry that no one hears, my shredded dress falls silently to the floor.

* * *

**Leave me some nice feedback? I'd really appreciate it! :D Be sure to answer the Capitol Question for points!**

**Capitol Question #002; which characters do you personally connect _best _with?**


	28. Get Ready to Ride

**A Vivid Note: **I'm a _machine_! Haha, just kidding. I am updating pretty quickly right now though.

As a suggestion from biblioholic- I'll give you a _very _brief reminder of each character (emphasis on 'very'). I know they're hard to remember (there's a lot of them) so I'm willing to give you guys some vague help- it's 'girl, boy, girl, boy' by the way-

S1, Liotta McKensie. 12 years old, has wings and is smart, but quite timid and a bit of a cry-baby.  
S1, Jason Blackheath. 17 years old, has blue hair and loves his girlfriend, but is a bit ordinary.  
S2, Natalia Marinos. 17 years old, has gems by her eyes and is very determined. Quite firey.  
S2, Marshall Matthews. 14 years old, has a scar down his face and is a bit of a fireball at times.  
S3, Francesca Bardot, 16 years old, is very optimistic, bubbly- and loves to have fun. Rather stylish.  
S3, Holland Wickbird, 16 years old, puts a lot of effort into his appearance, but is a little meek.  
S4, Minerva Nanaia, 18 years old, is engaged to her boyfriend Vidar. She's very smart, usually busy.  
S4, Vinel Greggorus, 17 years old, never knew his father and is a bit obsessed with his appearance.  
S5, Ari Saint-Claire, 16 years old, is a Capitol pop idol but is determined to break away from that.  
S5, Laco Sykora, 17 years old, has zebra stripes and is very ordinary. Determined to save Ari.  
S6, Faye-Anna Cholores, 14 years old, is quite frail because of her bulimia- but is also very intelligent.  
S6, Brandit Gailer, 16 years old, is rather strong and a good guy- but has a difficult mind process.  
S7, Galaxy Jones, 16 years old, loves outer space and is a bit of a ditz. Was never much of a sister.  
S7, Ferroh Axum, 17 years old, is the only black tribute and seems to have two sides to him.  
S8, Koriana Wilder, 15 years old, is a stylish girl who never got along with her parents. A little funny.  
S8, Diego "D", 18 years old, never knew his family and isn't a people person. Wants revolution.  
S9, Britney Frailer, 15 years old, typical Capitol girl, regrets being rude to her family. Energetic.  
S9, Montserrat Saint-Phillipe, 18 years old, has lots of piercings and muscles. His step-sister likes him.  
S10, Evon Sanhorn, 15 years old, tried to run away from the Games- but ended up hurting her hands.  
S10, Jasse Harridan, 15 years old, regular Capitol guy who was a bit unlucky. Swears quite a bit.  
S11, Cotton Ferier, 15 years old, stylish girl who is easily annoyed but very determined. Plucky.  
S11, Vince Pace, 12 years old, a seemingly innocent boy who is avenging his father's death. Scary.  
S12, Sapphire Emril, 13 years old, a strong girl who's gone through many hardships. Judgemental.  
S12, Julian Farraday, 17 years old, a relaxed, laid-back sort of guy who likes drinking and relaxing.

-I hope that helps you a bit! I know it's a pain, but it is a _lot _of characters, and I'm sure you want everyone to get to know your character too.

**Capitol Question #003; if it were up to you, which five tributes would die in the bloodbath?**

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Ferroh Axum; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 7._

It's odd, how my nerves are so easily replaced by feelings of inadequacy. I was completely silent while the stylists weaved wreathes of leaves and eased hollowed branches onto my arms- even though they did seem to carry on a lot of one-sided conversations with me.

"I hope you don't mind that we cut your hair so short Mr Axum," one of the women say, brushing the stray strands away with her fingers. "-but of course it's much nicer this way? Don't you think so? Yes, yes-"

Honestly I don't really care. My hair wasn't that long to begin with, but now that I look almost bald with only the prickling hair poking out of scalp- I make a note to be thankful. Hair would only be an issue in the arena anyway; or at least I guess it would.

"We're about finished here; we'll send you down to the chariots in about twenty minutes." One of the assisting male stylists looks like his vivid pink eyes about to burst into tears. "Oh I just know we're going to shine this year."

Perhaps if I was more vocal, I'd ask why on Earth he could possibly try to claim to 'know' that. Judging from my reflection- all I can see is a rather confronted guy dressed up as a patchy sort of tree. I can only assume that my stylists have never really had a passion for District 7 and their lumber specialty.

"Do you want anything Mr Axum?" the woman leans over my shoulder, batting her thick blue eyelashes at me. "-Something to drink or something to eat?"

"...water would be nice."

"You heard him Ceral, water!" I'd cringe if she were just a bit louder. I suppose living alongside loud friends like Ashen has made me deal with that sort of octave. "Hurry up, hurry up-"

Is this the treatment that movie stars have? If it is, I'm glad I was never interested in that career path. Ashen was, and I think perhaps Quinn at one point- but it never stemmed over to me or BB. Being a crowd pleaser was never on my agenda.

The glass of water appears at my side, and I take it gently within my hands- sipping slightly as I watch the flitting stylists chatter amongst themselves, eagerly bouncing backwards and forwards on their heels as they apparently wait for the time when we move to the ground floor of the remake centre.

So this is what they do every year, huh? Treating the District kids in a fashion they'd never known. I had to admit- I didn't appreciate being stripped down to the bones for all to see- but I don't have the fire to fight against something as meaningless as that.  
Being here in this styling room is better than being alone in that tent of velvet or that agonisingly painful car ride. Galaxy couldn't stop crying for the entire duration of the trip- babbling at the escort that 'she couldn't do this to her'- and spending every second moment sizing me up with terror in her eyes.

No one say racism is dead, because I could practically hear her brain screaming 'savage' while staring at me. Had I a spear- I might have been tempted to scare her a bit.

...suddenly the image of holding a spear looms into my mind- and I clench my eyes shut a few times to wipe the idea away.  
I don't want to begin considering weapons just yet. I haven't even seen any of my fellow... tributes, yet. To begin weighing up what weapon I should fixate on so soon would almost be cruel.

-although, if they're all as pathetic as Galaxy, I probably won't need a weapon. They'll collapse into tears on their plates and terminate themselves without my help.

"Is the water alright Mr Axum?" The pink lashed man is leaning close to me, hoisting a crown made of some dark coloured wood over my brow. "Anything else you'd like?"

"...no." Did they think I'd gained an appetite in the last two minutes?

"-Ceral, that crown is too dark! It disappears into his skin tone!" The larger blue lashed woman is back, swatting the crown from my head with a whip of her hand. "Choose a pine one- something lighter!"

"It won't match his District partner-!"

"That's _Sector _partner Ceral, and be quiet- for honesty's sake-"

No wonder Hunger Game victors look so dead before the games begin. Before the Game even begins- they're forced into this inane stupidity without any sort of warning. Clenching the arms of this chair is all I can do to stop myself throwing the glass of water against these bickering idiots.  
Usually I'm so laid back, but something inside is whirring- and everything is becoming infinitely more frustrating.

-And all I can think about is Ashen's words-

'_Don't lose yourself Ferroh._'

What did she mean by that? As I let the glass sit back on the side table- I'm suddenly narrowing my eyes in thought. Did I hear her correctly? Maybe all she said was 'don't lose'... but I swear that's what she had said. Don't lose myself...

I have no idea what that's supposed to mean, even as words of encouragement.

Perhaps the grief had affected my light headed friend more severely than it had affected me.

"Oh- oh sweetheart-!" I look up to see an unknown stylist gripping a flailing, oak encrusted arm. "Stop crying please, just come in here so we can compare you two-"

"I can't do this!" Galaxy's voice is unmistakable, even without seeing her face. It's a high pitched wail right now, warbled with tears. "Don't make me ride out there with h-him!"

The way her voice breaks when referring to what is undoubtedly myself makes my lip twitch, even though I shouldn't really be angry with her. Galaxy has every right to be terrified of me after all- since I'm a male who is undeniably bigger and stronger than her. Yet somehow it frustrates me that she's so quick to view me as a murderer.

"Come in here-" The stylist is desperate, pulling her in with all their strength. "Just for a moment-"

...it wasn't just me who looks terrible. Galaxy looks like someone rammed a tree on top of her and 'artfully' chiselled away at places to make it look like she has a bigger bust than she really does. The red skin she sports doesn't look very good, even with the painfully chosen 'red wood' breed they've piled upon her.

After several more seconds of struggling, the stylist succeeds in yanking the twisting girl into the room. Once she's across the threshold- the sixteen year old girl freezes; glued to the spot with her eyes wide in terror. They flick to mine- and before she can shy away I stand up.

"Hey Galaxy," I'm thankful that I'm no longer naked, because now I'm feeling awkward. "You... you look nice."

I'm hoping Galaxy is as vapid as I think she is- or else she's going to see through that compliment in a snap. It seems to startle her though, because her mouth opens a little and the trembling stops for a moment.

"See, they're getting along!" The unknown stylist claps her hands together gleefully. "Let's all hope they steal the show, yes?"

I tear my eyes away from the momentarily stunned Galaxy and stare at the group of gaggling stylists in disbelief. Could they really be so stupid as to think that these flimsy costumes could really steal anything except a cringe?

And it's not my imagination- because Galaxy looks down at her own costume and chokes out a barely audible sob that I can't help but agree with.

I guess I won't be getting any sponsors.

**

* * *

**

_Koriana Rebexa Wilder; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 8._

Here I sit, clutching my knees together as I lean against the hallway wall, trying to piece together everything that's happening right now.

I look more ridiculous than I've ever cared to look. I'm wearing turquoise eye shadow, bright pink lipstick, heavily laid on blush- and eyelashes that look like silver knives. I might like the dress, this pastel coloured patchwork dress with the rainbow netting hem... if my underwear wasn't on show for all to see.

-to make it even worse- they chose this pair of lacy _white _underwear for me to wear, telling me that 'it's a crowd pleaser' to see an innocent side to a tribute, at which point I had to keep myself from gawking 'how is showing my panties _innocent_?' – And even now I'm struggling to keep them hidden by keeping my big, bulky 'patch' shoes together.

Sadly, I know better than to argue with my stylists. They know their job better than I do- and who knows, there might be some perverts out there with a lot of money. I'd rather not think that way about potential sponsors- but I know that all I'll be able to think about now if I do manage to get sponsored is that they were staring up this belt of a dress thinking 'nice lingerie Kori!'

I couldn't be gladder that they're done with me. I was a little thankful that I just had a team of women working on me- as well as one young man who kept being addressed as 'intern'- so there wasn't the embarrassment of being naked around a group of full grown men. I got to see Diego's stylist briefly, before he was hurriedly taken away again for touch-ups – and he seemed to have a better idea of what he was doing than my stylists.

He was an older man, much older than my young stylists- and not nearly as feminine as 'intern' had been. They called him 'Mr. Wickbird', and were all clamouring about him like he was some sort of styling god. I didn't pay too much attention to him, since my eyes had fixated on the ever moody Diego, who couldn't take his eyes of his feet. He was wearing a suit that matched mine, but with a great deal less 'fan service' than my dress. Many little patchwork squares were tightly stitched together, with a white dress shirt underneath and an artfully frayed tie lazily hung around his neck.

It almost looks like the two of us are play dolls, done up in homemade clothing- all ready to play 'tea parties' and 'dollies' with.

Only what we're really going to be playing is something much worse than that, isn't it?

That's why I'm out here, I guess. They needed the room for something- finishing touches, because apparently Mr. Wickbird's styling room is out of make-up, and they have to make Diego look just as clownish as I do.

...I've been distracting myself from thinking about my parents. About them not coming to see me before I left. Although, all that I can think of instead is Damon- snivelling in tears and Marabeth staring at me with those dead eyes, unable to grasp what has happened to me.  
Somehow, I know that their expressions won't change much when I die. He'll cry even harder, and those beautiful eyes will just grow hollower.

Oh great, now I'm thinking about it all over again...

"Um, _what _are you doing here? Shouldn't you be getting ready or something?"

Jolting up, I see a girl- she must be around my age- staring down at me with her hands on her hips. Her hair is a disgusting mish-mash of colours, all clashing together- woven together with a crown of thorns, matching her dress which is also woven with fake little plastic berries and more thorns.

Immediately I know; this is the Sector Eleven girl.

"I'm allowed to be here," I answer- slowly, not bothering to hide my annoyance for her intrusion. "I'm waiting for them to tell me when to leave."

"Oh?" She doesn't look at all convinced. "Well, there's no need to get snappy about it."

"...I'm not being snappy," Though it's taking all my effort not to stand up and ask why this girl feels she has the right to stare down that plastic nose at me. "What's your problem?"

"-do you know that your underwear is showing?" The girl's eyes glimmer with amusement. "That's a bit embarrassing, isn't it?"

"-no." I reply flatly- temporarily forgetting that this is a lie. "I don't think it is."

The girl is silent for a few seconds, during which I silently spend hoping that she's going to leave me be. However, she instead decides to rest against the wall beside me- not caring that her thorns catch against my hair as she continues to stare down at me.

"I'm Cotton, Cotton Valamine Ferier." She looks at me with those six-inch eyelashes that look as sharp as my own. "Who are you?"

I have half a mind to tell her to bugger off, but making enemies so soon isn't really something I feel like doing. So instead I swallow the initial bitterness and put on my best middle-class smile.

"Kori Wilder, from Sector 8... obviously," Part of me thinks this girl might be too vapid to realise that District 8 is textiles, but I'm giving her the benefit of the doubt. "Sector 11- I presume?"

"Yeah, that's me," Cotton adjusts her headband for a moment then looks back down at me. "Do you have any allies yet? Seen anyone strong?"

"...no, just my Sector partner," Already I can see her angle. Cotton isn't interested in me at all apparently; just 'strong' allies. "Diego... you heard of him?"

"I haven't heard of anyone yet," Cotton answers blankly, her expression unmoving. "Is Diego strong looking?"

"What about your Sector partner?" Though I don't really have any interest in Diego as an ally myself, part of me doesn't want 'Cotton' going near him. "What's he like?"

Although she looks annoyed that I've cut off her pale attempt to scout for partners, the ever blunt Cotton obliges.

"His name is Vince," Her blue eyes narrow, obviously feeling contempt for whomever this Vince character is. "And he's _twelve_."

Ah. Without further words, I can see the picture.

"So, you won't be using him as an ally?" I try to smile, but my cheeks just end up feeling taut and heavy. This girl is sapping all my effort away.

"No, I'd rather have a chance," Her words are blunt, but I'm sad to say I can see the truth in it. Twelve year old allies aren't really a smart move. Cotton smirks at me. "Why, you interested in being a babysitter?"

"...not really," Again, I try to smile- and fail miserably. "Uh... well-"

"So, tell me about Diego." Cotton's eyes are glinting again, sort of dangerously. "What's he like? Does he look strong?"

I still don't want to answer her. Her eyes are so piercing though, I don't know what else I'm supposed to do in order to make her stop and leave me alone.

"Um..."

"Kori', Kori' darling-!"

I practically bound off the wall. Cotton's blue eyes grow wide as I spin about, not caring about the very big flash of my underwear I give her as I motion breathlessly to my styling room.

"Looks like I'm wanted!" Without really thinking, I curtsy. "See you later!"

I give her no time to answer me. Scooting inside the room- I'm met with my styling team telling me that Mr. Wickbird has overruled the clown make-up – and we will instead be going for a more black and white sort of cosmetics scheme.

Wordlessly, I nod and don't bother trying to fight against them. I'm far too relieved that I was saved from Cotton and her pesky questions- and that I didn't give someone else an early idea of who to scout out for protection.  
As they wipe off the heavy make-up with a wipe, I look over at Diego who is examining his oddly frayed tie with a dull interest. Just like when I first saw him, it's undeniable to say that he's a large sort of guy- and most likely a strong one.

-but is he the kind of person I'd want as an ally?

I don't know the answer to that question yet. In fact, the only thing I can say is that I'm fairly sure I won't be seeking Cotton's aid anytime soon.

I hope.

**

* * *

**

_Montserrat Pierre de Saint-Phillipe; 18 years; the Capitol Sector 9._

I feel like a Christmas tree, which is funny- because I've felt this way before. Last year, instead of dressing up the tree- we all donned the fairy lights and tinsel streamers ourselves and paraded about the house as if nothing was different to make Mom laugh at us.  
It's a pretty fond memory. Flavius tripped on Dolca's wires and almost head dived down the stairs- somehow sending me tumbling down with him.

-however this time it's very different. This time I'm being paraded about on the back of a cart pulled by horses- and if the crowd laughs it could mean the end of me. Literally.

I need sponsors.

The only problem is, I can't see anyone sponsoring the guy done up in Christmas lights. There's bound to be more spectacular tributes waiting in the wings. Who would choose _this _as their favourite?

Britney, standing beside me, took a while to stop crying. A couple of times on the car ride over- she stammered questions at me, asking if I had seen her parents or her family. Something about her sisters. I think she was wondering if they came to see her after she had fainted.  
I did my best to answer- but nothing made her happy. Not that I expected it too. Nothing would make me feel any better if I had been robbed of my final goodbye.

Our stylists didn't treat her with any sensitivity. They were very... straightforward. Sort of like they didn't have any time to be gentle with us for our situations.  
I guess they have this every year with the District kids- but that doesn't make me sympathise with them.

It's sure destroyed my image of stylists though. Forever.

"Alright, I think we've done all we can," my head stylist says, surveying Britney from the ground up. "I think you're ready to head downstairs to the remake centre now."

For a brief second I assume we're going alone- but that thought is quickly dismissed when we're set out into the hallway and I remember that there are peacekeepers everywhere.

I'll never be alone in this place. I'll probably never be alone again.

-the thought is strangely unsettling for me. I'm used to living in a big house filled with family. Suddenly I'm living out what could potentially be my final days in a giant building filled with strangers.

All of whom are meant to kill me. Oh great.

Strangely enough- I don't have ill feelings towards Britney, but I don't trust her enough to extend an arm of friendship to her. I was kind on the car ride here- when she awoke, learning that she wouldn't see her family- probably ever again- but that was a once off occasion.

I need to get home to my family. To Eresenda. Somehow, I know that if I'm too preoccupied with helping others- I'm going to lose sight of that.

Britney and I are packed into the elevator, still in our costumes- and the peacekeeper presses the button for the bottom floor of the remake centre before stepping outside and leaving us alone. It's a fairly swish sort of elevator- made of glass so those who ride can see the people on the streets below, like little ants- but it's not so amusing thinking about how insignificant people are.  
Just reminds me how insignificant _I _must be, in the grand scheme of things. And that isn't a nice thought- particularly now.

"...um... can I ask you something...?"

"Huh?" I turn, surprised to see Britney looking up at me. "Yeah, of course."

Honestly, I wasn't expecting her to talk to me. The elevator is gliding fairly slowly for a Capitol creation- so I guess there's no harm in filling the silence.

"...I was wondering... what's your name...?" She looks away from me, obviously embarrassed. "It's just, I was sort of... I didn't hear it when they reaped you."

That's an odd thing to hear. 'When they reaped you'. I bet not a whole lot of people hear that- except for victors.

"It's Montserrat," I'm polite, but too much that she'll think I'm snubbing her. "But everyone calls me Monty. You can too if you'd like."

"...what's your last name?"

"Uh... my full name is Montserrat Pierre de Saint-Phillipe," I can almost feel the awkward sitting on my head as Britney looks at me, obviously taken aback. "Yeah, I have a rich family... but we're not snobby or anything."

"...I never would have guessed that," Britney looks away, fiddling with a wire that has been threaded through her hair. "You look more like a punk to me, with all the piercings and that..."

"Eh-?" Surprise hits me hard. "Me? Really?"

"Oh yeah," She looks up again and smiles, rather honestly. "I've seen you around at school. You do sport right?"

"Uh, yeah... shot-put and that sort of thing..." I don't want to admit to her that all I remember her being is an airheaded cheerleader that the other guys directed sexual advances towards. Perhaps she doesn't either. "...I really like sports, though no one else in my family really does."

"Oh me too," Suddenly, her whole face lights up. "But I was planning on getting my sisters into it when they were... older..."

A grim feeling grips the two of us- realising that we're talking of a future that will probably never come to pass.

"...I'm sorry."

"...yeah... I'm sorry too." The poor girl looks completely miserable. "At least you got to say goodbye..."

Images of Eresenda crying into my chest come flooding back to me, and I wonder what I'd be feeling right now if I had been robbed of that closure. Thinking about it makes me feel incredibly guilty.

As much as I want to say something kind to this girl, I know there's nothing that can take the hurt away- especially not anything I can do. She and I are both feeling the impending dread of being killed in six days- and I'm sure she understands that.  
All I can do to help is make sure that this chariot ride goes well for the both of us. For Sector 9. That way, when we change out of these costumes- we'll know that we did our best.

I don't want to sabotage her chances, just as I don't want to give her any. Her living would mean my death- and vice versa. Britney is sure to know that.

"...I've decided something... Monty."

Turning to the girl, I look down at her. Her face is quiet and serious- but as she looks up, she smiles again- with the sweetest look she can muster.

"...I like you."

...Eresenda...

As the tears begin to line Britney's eyes, it's all I can do now to look away- and blot out how much that smile just looked like my sister's.

...I guess... I guess I definitely won't be killing this girl...

**

* * *

**

_Evon Sanhorn; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 10._

"Perhaps we could make her wear many rings? Large ones, or- or mittens-!"

"_Mittens_?" I wince as the woman straightening my hair almost drops the hair iron. "Are you _insane_? What on earth would a cowgirl be doing wearing _mittens_?"

"Erm... cowpox?" The man answers with a weedy smile. "I'm just suggesting-"

...they've been bickering like this, over my ruined hands, for hours.

When I showed up, heavily escorted by four peace keepers that I could see, I saw these stylists' eager faces fall into complete despair. They could've at least tried to pretend they were happy to see me, but they didn't. Instead they tried to negotiate for Jasse- my Sector partner- even while I was still in the room.

Clearly, they were stuck with the girl with bandaged mittens for hands. And though they've shoehorned me into this awful rodeo cowgirl costume- which if I might say is the worst piece of styling I've ever seen with bright pink, blue and white _suede_- they're still bickering about what to do with my hands.

Jasse's apparently already finished and about to make his way downstairs. Also, evidently most of the tributes are making their way there around about now. I didn't get to see what he looked like, but I don't really care. No one could ever look good in this costume- and I'm bound to not receive any sponsors looking like a blown up baby doll.

"-why don't we take off the bandages?"

There's a breathy pause. Eyes trained on me, all three stylists slowly let their eyes fall from mine to my pair of heavily bandaged hands; sweat practically rolling down their faces. Instinctively, I pull my hands close to my chest, feeling a tinge of panic.  
Somehow, even though I don't feel much in the way of pain- I know what's lying under these bandages is not something I'm ready to see yet. The amount of blood that poured from my fingers, although I didn't see it happening, was a very large quantity.

"Evon? May we see your hands?"

The way the woman says those words, it's like she's asking a small child to show her what they're holding. I look at her, obviously uncomfortable, and shake my head.  
The stylist bites her lips together, and without warning reaches forwards to take my bandaged hands in her long, delicate fingers.

"Just a peek sweetheart, to see if we can put some gloves on them or something-" She wedges a fingernail under a fold in the bandage, but I pull it away- causing her hand to catch on the edge. "Evon- don't be difficult-"

"No," I'm breathless, almost angry. "You can't."

"Why not?" She looks at me with accusing eyes. "Do you know what condition they're in?"

It would be so easy for me to lie and say 'Yes I do', but the lie is caught in bottom of my throat. The team seems to notice this and all begin to crowd around me, almost menacingly.

"We're running out of time," One of the males says hurriedly, looking over his shoulder. "She's got to get going soon-"

"We'll be quick then."

Terror strikes me as a pair of hands restrain me from behind- and two pairs of arms grab at mine to keep them steady. Shrieking- I try to pull away as the woman begins to pull at the clasp snagging the bandage together.

"DON'T!" I thrash forwards- almost trying to gnash at her with my teeth to make her stop. "YOU CAN'T! DON'T!"

Can't anyone hear me screaming-? There were crowds of peace keepers in the hallway. They can hear me can't they-? Her hands begin to unravel the bandages, and the longer she works the more my hands begin to sting from the coldness of the air-  
I clench my eyes shut from the pain, failing to pull my hands out of their grasps. As the bandage falls to my lap, the stylists' hands suddenly draw away- and my hands smack into my chest. Then my heart freezes at the frightening silence that follows.

"Oh my god..." The woman's voice is petrified. "Bandages- get the bandages back on-"

But no one moves. Even with my eyes shut I can hear the sounds of mortified disgust escaping one of the female stylists- who is backing away in horror. In the open air my hands burn like poison- and as I try not to scream from the pain- one shaky eyelid flutters open.

-And then both my eyes fly open wide in pure terror.

Red. And white. Great amounts of dead skin peel away from my hands, curling up by the blackened nails that tremble with the rest of me. There are patches where I can see the flesh straining to pulsate- the blood still seeping up from beneath. And bone. There's bone- jutting out from where the shrapnel dug its way into me-

"Quickly! Get the bandages back on-!"

I can't breathe. The more I see the damage that has happened to my hands- the more it begins to hurt! How could this have happened? When the gun exploded it killed that peacekeeper- a-and it took my hands with him!  
Bandages are being whirled about frantically- the stylists desperate to cover up the mistake they had made- but to my alarm the head stylist grabs the bandage and forcibly yanks it away.

"Wait!" Her eyes are trained on my chest, mixed with despair and anger. "She got blood on herself..."

"-what?" The others stop their hurried covering of my hands and start to look too. Even I look down, and sure enough- there's a large mark where the back of my hand collided with the fabric. "Oh... oh what do we do-?"

No one makes a sound. I'm starting to whimper, unable to hold back how much my hands are hurting me any longer- as the woman grips my lower arm, staring at the massacred remains of my hands.

-Then, without warning- she pushes my arm down- smothering my hand in the folds of my skirt.

And I scream.

"What are you doing to her?" The male stylist shrieks, grabbing for my arm- which feels like it's being engulfed in fire. "Stop it Messa! You're hurting her!"

"-it can be part of the costume," Messa says, breathlessly. "It's too late to change her- she has to be down there within ten minutes. Quick- get the boy in here. We need to get his outfit too."

Tears running down my face- I shriek again as the woman grips my wrist, squeezing as tightly as she can so the blood flows faster. I'm starting to feel very faint- and the pain is too much to endure. She begins to make my arm hit places that are painful to reach- like my back and the shoulders- even the collar of this outfit are all printed with the blood of my hands.

"S-Stop-!" I cry weakly. I can't scream like I had before, my throat is hurting too. "P-Please stop-!"

"Almost done Evon- hold on-" Messa's face shows no remorse. Instead, she looks determined with the choice she's making. "Just a bit more-"

In the very back of my hearing- I hear the door swing open. Rasping, I try to cry for help- but when I see Jasse, pale and stricken with panic at the sight of what Messa is doing to me- I begin to cry again.

"-Get up-!"

I'm pulled to my feet by Messa, who yanks me over to where Jasse is standing. The boy tries to back away- but suddenly a pair of stylists has flanked either side of him and is holding him steady as Messa, screwing up her face in concentration- forces my fingers straight.

"Here we go-!"

With a forceful push- she slams my hand against Jasse's shirt. And with one final cry of pain, my legs give out beneath me- but not before I see the perfect handprint of blood smacked across my sickened Sector partner.

"...okay... _now_ fix her up."

...this isn't even the Games yet... and it hurts this much... someone... someone please kill me now...

**

* * *

**

_Vince Bryant Pace; 12 years; the Capitol Sector 11._

I'm down by the chariots before any of the other tributes are even finished getting ready. I enjoy following the peacekeepers with my eyes about the ground floor stable- and almost relish in the pitying looks they glance my way.

It's already working. I caught snippets of Boo's retelling of the crowd's reaction to my reaping- and apparently I'm the clear underdog, along with a twelve year old girl from the first Sector and some stupid girl who blew off her hands moments before the reaping.  
Only difference between us allegedly is that I have an 'adorable' quality that the other two are missing. It almost makes me want to scorn at how stupid the Capitol is.

My costume isn't anything remarkable. To be honest it's almost derivative of every other District 11 costume for the past hundred and twenty-five years. Berries, thorns and leaves all wreathed together in a rather inappropriate toga- that seems to purposefully slip to reveal one of my nipples. If I had the virtue of modesty, I'd care.

The styling team loved me- and I can't blame them. I was adorable, eyes welling up with the sadness of leaving my beloved Mother, my darling sisters and my poor younger brother- who'd be lost without me. Each of them crooned and cried for me, hinting heavily that they'd do their best to gain me sponsors- if not sponsor me themselves.

In reality, I suppose I was a little disappointed to have left my Mother and siblings behind in that fashion- but only because there was so much more I wanted to do after learning the truth. Seeing my Mother, screaming and shrieking on the floor of that tent made me feel empty inside- like it wasn't enough.

A woman like that needs to be punished, and living in the agony and guilt of what she has done is not enough for my liking. Sure, she was pulled from the tent still screaming my name- begging for me to forgive her- but all I can really remember is the blank look in Bliss' eyes as she said-

"_Win. For him._"

It doesn't take a genius to know she was talking about my Father- but Bliss should've known that I was going to win for him anyway. To prove to my Father in Heaven that his death was not in vain, and that his first son won't let the Pace name be dragged through the mud along with his mistake of a wife.

Sure, sounds monstrous- but it's a noble purpose no one else would understand.

Sitting on the chariot, listening to the whinnying of the horses as they're fed and groomed- I stiffen as the first of the other tributes make their way into the centre.

-It's a guy. He's a muscular guy, but not as tall as some. There's a dark sort of expression on his face, and all of his body is painted like stone along with a pair of black jeans and a dark looking cape thrown about his neck- so I'm going to take a guess and say he's the Sector 2 tribute. His eyes are tainted silver to match his costume- and they sweep over me in a bored sort of way.  
He probably doesn't care much about the other tributes- judging from the scar that slashes down the side of his face. Perhaps he's going to be a faux career.

He tracks his way over to the chariots painted with 'District 2' on the side. I guess they're recycling the old chariots- since they haven't replaced the word 'District' with 'Sector'. I watch him for a few moments, but then I grow bored and resume looking shyly at my feet- keeping my peripherals on the entrance way.

A girl comes in next, closely followed by a boy. They're chatting quite amiably to one another- and they're dressed up in what looks like ash. I'd suspect them to be from the coal District, only they end up hoisting one another onto the District 3 chariots- laughing as the girl slips a little and her dress hikes a little bit further up. It's then I notice the little yellow windows patterned across her dress and groan at the unoriginality.

Sector 3 never has a chance. Thank god.

Another girl comes in after- dressed the same as the first boy who came in. I'm intrigued because her eyes are filled with murder and her lip curls when the boy from Sector 2 looks at her with a wry smirk. She doesn't join him, and instead props herself up against the wall nearest to her chariot.

Well that decides it. So far the biggest competitors seem to be from Sector 2, who are so arrogant that they hate even each other. This makes me smile quietly to myself, knowing that my competition so far is dismal.

I only start noticing a few tributes now that they're coming in at a faster rate. The pair from Sector 4 walks in draped in netting, not really looking at one another as they stand silently by their chariot. The pair from 6 looks promisingly weak, the girl looks awful and the boy keeps shooting her this awkward, encouraging smile. The pair from 12 doesn't even acknowledge one another walking in- similar to the pair from 9.

Only a few of the tributes strike me as potentially dangerous. When the girl from Sector 7 comes snivelling out, my heart sort of wells up thinking that I can strike the lumberjacks off my list as well.  
-then the guy walks in, and I feel my eyes widen a little in surprise at the sheer tallness of him. His skin is as black as night, and his eyes sweep the room- most likely aware that all eyes are on him.

Sector 8 provides a comically dressed duo- but the guy under the costume looks formidable. He's this hulking, pale sort of beast that dwarfs his partner in size and in presence. However I can tell in the way he is holding himself that he doesn't look down on this girl- so I make a note to stay 'pitiful' in front of him.

There's a blood stained pair of tributes who come hobbling in late, and I immediately recognise the girl as one of the fellow underdogs. Her bandaged hands are hard to miss- especially since they've been bandaged up rather shoddily- and the blood that coats their rodeo outfits looks suspiciously real, judging from the handprint smacked against the boy's chest.

It's taking all my effort not to celebrate. Even when the ever idiotic Cotton strides over to our chariot, snorting in an obvious derision of me before sitting up on the chariot- I can't help but feel a sickeningly sweet brand of confidence sweep over me.  
I have this game in the bag. All of them look like complete idiots and none of them strays away from their own chariots to mingle with one another. I can only assume they're all thinking of winning this without alliances- which would certainly make things easier for me.

"Hey," Cotton's voice interrupts my musings with a stern tone. I count to two in my head before turning around, trembling. "Just so you know- if you screw this ride up for me- I'm going to make your life _very _painful."

"I-I... I-I won't..."

My stammer seems to put the girl at ease, but she sits back again, folding her arms while scouting out across the crowd. I follow her gaze, which has settled on the tributes I myself deemed potentially worthy- the boy from seven and the one from eight. However when her eyes land on the hulking pale one- Cotton purses her lips in annoyance.

"That girl lied to me..."

I know better than to ask questions. Let the stupid girl cause her own problems.

Almost all of the tributes are in now, except for the pair from Sector 1 and Sector 5. I know that one of them is sporting the last underdog however- and I seriously doubt that any more dangerous looking tributes will make an appearance.

...ah if only Mother could have seen this. I wonder what she's going to think when she sees me carve up these idiots. In my mind's eye I can already feel the pleasure of digging the knife into Cotton's throat, twisting the hands apart from the girl from 10- pulling the wings out of the girl from Sector 1 from the-

-wait...

My eyes slowly widen as the centre's lights catch upon her blonde, cascading waves of hair, her light blue eyes shimmering with tears as the many gems and jewels catch fire on her dress under their shine.  
...and a pair of wings, adorned with gold and silver- arch from her shoulders as she twists and turns fretfully under the eyes of the other tributes.

My jaw sags slightly without my consent.

The resemblance to the girl back home is uncanny. It's almost too much to be a coincidence. The girlfriend who I never truly cared for.

Lilly.

**

* * *

**

_Sapphire Emril; 13 years; the Capitol Sector 12._

Julian and I don't bother speaking to one another. It's pretty obvious neither of us is interested in the other as an ally- though for very different reasons. He most certainly sees me as some pathetic thirteen year old girl incapable of defending herself. I on the other hand see him as the vapid airhead he obviously is.

I try to busy myself with the horses, but to be honest I've never cared for them as animals. Instead I'm silently trying to scope out the competition before the parade begins. Not everyone is here yet- the most recent entries were the pair from one, who is sporting disturbingly real looking wings.

-No, scratch that- they are real. The sick look on the boy's face as he staggers to get a hold of his chariot is uncanny. He's just undergone a very quick- and probably very shoddy- surgery.

Sure glad I didn't have to endure any implants. Just wear black clothes sprinkled with black dust that barely looks like coal. The military stripes on my face don't help either.  
Oh well. I guess that means he's just going to be a little easier to defeat in the arena. I guess.

All that just to match his partner... wow. Watching her, I can tell that she won't be a problem in the arena- being so small and frail looking. She shies away from the horses of the District 1 chariot, a fearful look in her eyes as one of them turns to exhale towards her.  
What a joke, a sort of pitiable one- but a joke nonetheless.

There's no one here I can see that 'jumps out' as a potential ally. Everyone in this stable of a staging area looks as if they have no hope, like the chattering duo from Sector 3- or that they're too cocky or brutish to enlist another's help- like the tall guy from 8, and the pair from Sector 2.

I wonder what I look like to them. If anyone has considered me as a potential ally. There's a sort of hopeful feeling in my chest that perhaps, one of them is- but as far as I can tell, no one's looked twice at me since I walked in. Julian got a few looks from some of the girls- several from the 11 girl- and I think he has a chance with whatever career group shows up.

-He's enough of a jerk to be a career, after all.

Slowly, I count each of the tributes gathered about the room. Swiftly but carefully- I scan over the chariots- focusing briefly on the winged tributes, the ones made of stone- the girl drabbed in netting, the red faced girl in the tree trunk, and the girl from 10 with bloodied bandages covering her hands.

Twenty-two tributes. We're missing a Sector.

It takes me a few minutes as I recount to recognise that the only chariot still abandoned is the Sector 5 chariot. I wonder what the holdup is...

"Scoped out the enemy yet?"

A cold prickling sensation crawls up my neck when Julian speaks. Narrowing my eyes, I say nothing- shooting him a look that clearly says I'm not interested in speaking to him.  
The guy chuckles for a minute, and then looks up- mildly surprised. It takes me a minute to catch onto anything as Julian's relaxed posture stiffens- raising his head up to the door.

"Is that...?" His mouth sags- but I hear a girl across the room give a shriek.

"Ari Saint-Claire?"

Whirling around, my breath escapes me before I even realise what's going on.

At first it's like some sort of stunt, like a good luck farewell to us Capitol tributes. That's until I see the boy beside her, all dressed up in the oil black suit. District 5, oil and petroleum, obviously reflected in the form fitting dress that hugs her body tightly...

Ari Saint-Claire, the pop idol- one of the newest Capitol sensations to sweep Panem... is a Quell tribute?

-if there's ever been a time for jaws to drop, it's now. I can basically smell the male hormones filling the room from the mere sight of this girl. There's silence for a long while, people probably not knowing what to say as the sensation stands there with the male nobody in her wake- but a derivative snort escapes the girl from District 2.

"-Ha," Everyone turns, even the peace keepers, as the girl of stone tilts her head in amusement. "I guess no one really was safe. That's good to know."

There's an odd sort of squeak from the other side of the room, but its owner goes unfounded as Ari stares in the girl's direction. Judging from her television appearances and her general persona- I expect her to go red with embarrassment and apologise.  
But this Ari Saint-Claire doesn't do anything of the sort. She stares at her, defiantly- as the guy beside her begins to look almost infuriated.

"What did you expect?" Ari jerks her head, staring blankly at the girl. "Favouritism, in a game to the death?"

District 2's girl doesn't answer, but there's an odd sort of smile on her face that either shows that she's impressed or that she's pissed. Either way, Saint-Claire is already busting everyone's expectations of her.  
Ari looks over at the boy, and nods her head in the direction of their chariot. With a bemused shrug, he follows her- not caring about the hems of his pants tracking across the mucky ground. I don't know how they're doing it- but they ignore the stares that follow them the whole way.

"Man oh man," Julian leans forwards again, tracing his tongue across his upper lip. "Things just got interesting..."

"Like she'd be interested in you," I smirk as Julian frowns, glaring down at me. "...by the way... you missed a feather."

That did it. With a growl, he leans back into the chariot- yanking out the stray feather I noticed, tapping his foot irritably against the side while we wait. I should be worried, but I relish in my victory while I can- since I know that I'll have to pay for this rudeness later.

So I know the names of two of my fellow competitors, Ari and Julian. I can also take a guess and say that the girl from District 2 is gonna be trouble. The rest of the girls seem pretty... well, typical. To be honest, I'm surprised by how easy this just might actually be. No one here really has the brutal edge that District careers always sport. Perhaps I can grow some strength before the rest of them can!

-No one is going to bother paying any attention to me. I'm just some thirteen year old after all. I'd probably have good luck making a group with the other younger kids- but they're all hopeless too.

...should I go solo then?

Suddenly music begins to blare. Loud, obnoxious opening music that's used every year- only this year it sounds a bit more instrumental, since it's the special 'Quell' after all.  
Peacekeepers are suddenly ushering the other tributes onto their chariots- a few brandishing guns; as if we didn't comply they were going to 'shotgun' us on.

I don't need telling twice. As much as I hate my partner, I clamber on up next to him- standing as far apart from him as I can as all the horses start moving themselves into formation.

Julian looks at me for a second, and almost appears as if he's about to say something. But then he smirks and looks away again- gripping the front of the chariot in his hands as our coal black horses trot to the very back of the remake centre- to the very back of the line.

...perhaps he was about to wish me good luck. After all, this will determine if I get any sponsors or not- which is going to be difficult, on the final chariot of the entire line.

-let's hope 'lucky last' is still true.

* * *

**I appreciate any and all feedback! Review and answer the Capitol Question for 2 sponsor points. :D**

**Capitol Question #003; if it were up to you, which five tributes would die in the bloodbath?**


	29. Smile for the Crowd

**A Vivid Note: **I hope you're not finding the lengths of these chapters too overwhelming. They're about 7000 words apiece (occasionally more), but if I'm going to update- we're going to have _big _updates.

I've been musing over the potential bloodbath characters. I thought I had those all figured out, I thought, but now I've decided to give our lucky twenty four characters a bit more time to shine and _show _me which should live. Though- to those of you I've already given the heads up to if they're character lasts- that still stands. They have plotlines I'm working out.

Also, I have recorded all of you who have asked to be sponsors. You can become a sponsor right up until the final chapter in the arena, as long as you have the points- so if you haven't asked yet, there's no rush.

Oh! And be sure to take the new poll on my profile! 'Who do you want to win the Capitol Games?' It'll be up until the very end of the Games- though I do have to say, it won't affect my overall choice for who wins- it's just so you all can see who each other is rooting for.

**Capitol Question #004; which tribute do you feel most sorry for?**

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Liotta McKensie; 12 years; the Capitol Sector 1._

I can't stop looking at the wings that now stick out of Jason's back. Even though he's side on from me on this chariot, still in the shade of the remake centre, I can see that he's in a great deal of pain by the way he's gripping at his arms like that.

...and it's all my fault.

And there's nothing I can say or do to make up for it.

The music has already begun to boom all around us- but there'll be another minute or so before the door opens and we roll out to begin the chariots. I know this because any year Dad or Mom took us to see the chariot rides the music would start, and while I stood on the sidelines, propped up on Hughie's shoulders- it seemed like an age before anything actually happened. It always made me feel anxious.

Right now- I feel far more disturbed than any of those times. What I wouldn't give to be outside, safe on the sidelines as some other girl stood here beside Jason. I bet he'd prefer it that way too, because then he wouldn't have those wings sticking into his back...

...he must hate me. I can't blame him if he does. I would too if I had to have that operation again. I was far too young to remember it fully- but I remember it being painful. And I remember crying, and my Mother nursing me in her arms saying that it'll all be worth it, because my wings will only help to make me more beautiful.

-if I knew then that by having wings, I'd have forced someone else into enduring that pain, I'd have begged her to have them removed. Watching this boy, struggling to remain upright and not to double over the front of the chariot... it just makes my stomach twist up in guilt.

Jason turns, slowly, and looks at me with those struggling eyes- and gives me a kind smile that only deepens the regret I'm feeling because of how much I don't deserve it. Perhaps he knows that I'm thinking something like this, because he shakes his head simply without me saying a word.

"No... it's not your fault," His voice is a groaning croak, no longer the gentle one I remember from the prep room. "I'm fine... really..."

It's a lie. It's painfully obvious that it's not at all true, particularly because Jason looks straight ahead again with a grimace, wincing in pain. His arms must be killing him, having all that weight pulling on the back of his shoulders that was never there before.  
I've had years to live with it. I grew up with my posture formulated around it. Jason Blackheath... he's struggling to recompose himself like I did in years- in minutes.

-But it can't work. And we both know this. I'm sure.

"...I don't know... how on earth... you dealt with this..."

Quietly, I stand and listen as Jason grits his teeth- doing his best to smile as we prepare to face the sponsors waiting outside.

"...I feel like... I feel like my bones have been weighed down... like each feather is made of lead..." He shudders, and clenches his eyes tightly shut. "Each time I take a step... it's like the entire world is pushing down on my back... and I want to stand up straight... but it hurts too much... how... how can you do this... every day... how can you do this Liotta...?"

He takes me by surprise. It's the first time he's said my name, and hearing it from that pained voice makes me feel even more responsible somehow. Jason continues to stare at me, clutching his sides and the front of the carriage- waiting for an answer I'm not sure I can give. But I want to answer him. Trembling- but pushing myself to go on, I let the words come out.

"...I was three... when I was given my wings..." Jason stops, taken aback that I've decided to speak. "...it hurt... it hurt a lot... but I learned to adjust to them... I had to... there was no other choice..."

The sadness in my voice is obvious, but I can't exactly mask it with anything. To even try would be insulting to the both of us.  
Jason looks at me, his eyes suddenly alight like the gems encrusted in the folds of his wings and the suit he dons to match my dress.

"...you had to adjust... because there was no other choice...?" He repeats, slowly- and in a low whisper.

I nod. "Yes... in the beginning I... I considered pulling them out... myself... but by the time I worked up the courage... the period of time where that would have been possible... it was long gone... it would've hurt too much..."

Not once in my life have I ever told anyone that story before. Letting it out like that makes my heart pound and my hands clench tightly in the folds of my dress. Looking at Jason stare at me, eyes open wide- the joints of my wings begin to ache in sympathy for the pain I remember feeling when I was in his position.

"...I'm sorry," I look down at my hands, trying not to cry. "If I knew this would've happened... I'm... I'm sorry..."

Moments pass in silence. The chariot begins to rumble as the horses clop forwards- and the crowd outside screams with an explosive excitement. Before I decide to focus all my attention on the crowd- I look at Jason one final time.

-And I'm surprised to see him rigidly standing straight with a smile positioned on his face, ready to meet the crowds. His wings- bigger than mine, with slightly darker feathers, glimmer under the blinding lights of the street lamps and the evening sun as he waves to the crowd, hiding all the pain that must be rippling through his back.

I too, turn to face the crowds that stare up at me. But the moment I do, I hear Jason's voice whisper, louder than the cries of all the people around us.

"_Thank you_."

**

* * *

**

_Marshall Bruce Matthews; 14 years; the Capitol Sector 2._

Just looking at Natalia makes the place on my neck where her nails broke the skin sting. Yeah, they disinfected the cut less than a minute afterwards- then draped this cape around my neck to cover up the marks- but that doesn't make me any less pissed at her.  
It's not that I planned on making any allies in this thing, but it certainly wasn't part of the plan to make enemies with the other tributes so quickly.

I remember her smile from when we locked eyes up on that reaping stage; that hollow, murderous gleam that promised me misfortune. The moment I saw that, I had a feeling that this girl, this _witch _had it in for me.

-And after she lunged for me, that feeling turned into fact.

Okay, I brought it on myself by taking that 'not a girl' shot at her- but I wasn't going to let her go ahead and start believing that she was superior to me. That she deserves to go home and that I'm going to go down without a fight.  
I made a promise to myself that I would finish these Games and that when I did- I'd go home and finish Dad for stealing my final farewell. 'Natalia Marinos' won't break that promise.

Watching the Sector 1 chariot leave through the now opened gates of the recreation centre- I'm doing all I can to keep my attention away from the girl standing stiffly beside me. We're only about thirty centimetres apart- the chariot doesn't leave us much room- and the proximity is making me feel a bit frustrated, if not anxious.

I can tell that she's still pissed. Her precariously manicured nails are digging into her upper arms- rubbing away the stone paint. If I cared anything for her I'd tell her not to- but I'd rather she ruins her costume honestly.

-Natalia's eyes snap sideways and lock onto mine- causing me to flinch. She notices my reaction and a cool smirk draws across her lips.

"Jumpy little thing aren't you," She purrs; but her nails are still dug into her arms. "Scared I'm going to push you off the cart?"

"Not especially," It's not a lie. I wasn't even thinking about it until she just said it. "I doubt you have the upper body strength."

Her eyes flash, but I'm standing my ground. Without realising it, the witch has given me an idea. Closing my eyes and smirking once more- I turn to face the front of the chariot, my mind suddenly alive and whirring with a marvellous idea.

She's just like my Father. Her moves are more than apparent before she even knows she'll make them. But the one difference between Natalia Marinos and my Father?

Natalia Marinos doesn't know _my _moves.

"-we only have to be enemies if you make it that way," I open my eyes, side glancing as Natalia stares straight ahead as well. "-And trust me. You _don't _want to make it that way."

"Ah?" My voice slips into a tone, not unlike the one I'd use when mocking my Father. "And why would I trust your judgement? You have _no idea _what you're doing."

The horses begin to move, and we've already reached the middle of the first stretch of road- but Natalia's shoulders rise up as I see the anger slowly begin to flare around her. Even as the crowd begins to roar with anticipation- I hear as her whisper-

"Well if you have such a _great _idea on what you're doing..."

I ready myself. I clench and unclench my hands as I prepare for the predictable.

"-think _fast!_"

-And before Natalia's pointed hands even graze my side- I'm already in midflight, and I can feel the psychotic smile grow across my face as it had so many times before as her eyes fill with surprise.

These are my moves.

Natalia pushes herself into the back of the chariot as I swing myself into a handstand- gripping only the front of the chariot. The screams of the crowd feed my adrenaline as I lock eyes with the girl- who is stricken dumb with shock as I hold myself steady- unfazed with being completely upside down with my legs straight in the air.

"NOT WHAT YOU'RE EXPECTING?" Teeth flash, and my eyes narrow accordingly. "I'M ALWAYS FOUR MOVES AHEAD OF YOU, _WITCH_!"

I can tell that she's about to move before she does. With a hiss- she moves forwards again- perhaps hoping to knock me off and underneath the slowly rumbling chariot- and swipes at my grin. However by the time her arm is pulled back- I'm already in mid-air- praying that the back flip I was so proud of back when I was showing off in high school gymnastics makes its mark-

-And as I feel my lower body hit hard against the horse- who manages to keep on trotting without much discord- I can't hold back the glee Natalia's mortified face gives me. As our chariot continues along- the crowd screaming and shrieking my name- I open my arms wide, cocking my head to the side as I shake with uncontrollable laughter.

"YOU'VE JUST MADE A TERRIBLE ENEMY- MARINOS!" I grab the horse and spin myself front side on- but not before casting one final look over my shoulder at the girl quaking with anger. "-IT'LL BE A PLEASURE KILLING YOU, I _PROMISE_!"

The last thing I see before I return my full attention to attending to the crowd now completely enthralled with my antics is Natalia's expression, and the same eyes she had greeted me with on stage.

Hollow, furious eyes- and a murderous scowl that aches to bring me pain.

"Marshall! Marshall! Marshall!"

-Not that aching will get her anywhere. After all, I promised to kill her- and, as I was thinking earlier... I keep my promises.

And with that thought, I loosen the cape around my shoulders- and let it fly into the wind, positive that it will waft its way past Natalia- further reminding her of this victory- insulting her.

-Not that she'll ever be allowed to forget this.

And I'm sure that back home, my Father is watching me with similar feelings to the witch rattling on behind me. And with that image in my mind- I feel my teeth grit together and the smile grow painful.

Because as much as I want to deal Natalia and all those tributes stupid enough to get in my way the pain they deserve... my Father will receive all that pain and then some.

I hope he's watching this smile, and he knows what it means.

Ha. Who am I kidding?

_Everyone_ knows what this smile means.

**

* * *

**

_Francesca Emmeline von Bardot; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 3._

"Eek..." I grip Holland's upper arm to keep myself steady. "You don't think they'll stop suddenly and we'll be thrown backwards do you?"

"The horses are pretty well trained..." Though he says this, Holland looks worried too. "Um, let's just hold on- okay?"

We haven't even left the centre yet. The Sector 2 chariot rolled out only a few seconds ago- and already the crowd is roaring and cheering like crazy-mad. It makes me feel a little disappointed. What could Sector 2 have done that was so spectacular? Not only that, but what if they're all worn out by the time we get moving? I had felt slightly at ease since- after all- we're Sector 3, which means we get to go out pretty early- but what if we're overshadowed by Sector 1 and 2? And what about all the chariots after us?

Holland looks at me, showing a pained smile. "Are you worried about the same thing I am?"

"Yeah... I guess for all my optimism, I can't fight off fear- can I?" I smile at him, but I clench my hands tighter around the front of the chariot. "Sure wish I had some sunglasses right now."

It takes me a few seconds to recognise the confused look on Holland's face. With an awkward giggle, I scratch the side of my face, embarrassed.

"See- whenever I had to do a speech for class, I'd wear sunglasses... that way I couldn't see anyone and I wasn't scared," Another sporadic giggle bursts out of me. "Didn't you ever think it was weird?"

Holland shakes his head- but I'm suddenly wondering if he was ever in one of my classes that involved giving a speech. I don't think about it for long- because Holland is smiling again.

"I could cover your eyes if you like?" He holds up his hands for a moment, but his face falls. "Oh... the paint is coming off around my palms."

Surprised, I look down too. Sure enough- around the lifelines and creases of my palm- the grey paint that had been such a pain to have sprayed on- is sloughing off everywhere.

"That's not good," I smile sheepishly, rubbing my palms together. "I hadn't noticed since I was kind of focused on them cutting off so much of my hair..."

"...what?" Holland suddenly looks at the ends of my hair- which end above my shoulders. "Oh! I hadn't even noticed your hair had changed!"

I smile, fingering the freshly cut ends of my curly purple hair. "Yeah, I haven't worn it this short since I was a kid. Does it look any good on me?"

"Yeah, it looks nice..." Something in the way he says this makes it sound either untruthful- or just really nervous. "...frames your face."

Either case, I smile gratefully. "Thanks."

I know that we aren't close friends or anything, but I can definitely tell that the nerves are really getting to my Sector friend. He keeps fiddling with the yellow light reflectors on his costume, and examining his painted nails with what looks a lot like despair.  
I'd keep feeling sad for him if there wasn't a sudden gasp from the crowd- and several screams and cheers so loud that both Holland and I freeze.

"What do you think is happening out there?" Holland asks frantically, trying to squint through the doors that closed behind the last chariot. "What could they have done to make them scream like that?"

I can think of a few things, most of which aren't unheard of. It's actually a rare thing for chariot rides to go smoothly each year. There's usually some sass backing, tormenting and- worse- shoving. I'd only gotten a brief glance of the pair from Sector 2, and they didn't look like they liked each other. Maybe the guy snapped and attacked that girl...

"...Chess, I don't think I can do this."

"What?" I turn, looking at Holland surprised. "No, Holland you can do this."

He shakes his head frantically. "No, no I can't... Chess- look at me. No one is going to sponsor me- everyone thinks... they all think I'm..."

I quietly wait for Holland to finish his sentence, but he's having difficulty getting the words out. Finally, after staring at his boots that disappear into the lycra reflector pants- he timidly looks back up at me.

"...they all think I'm gay."

There's a pause, and before I realise it- I snort and clamp my hands to my face. Holland's face falls into despair as I quickly regain composure- waving my hands about in an attempt to fix this.

"Holland, nobody thinks that!" It's hard not to laugh. That's what he's worried about? "And even if they did, you're living in the Capitol. This isn't the dark ages you know, there are loads of people who are homosexual. Heck- even my Mom is a lesbian!"

"That's not the problem!" Holland cries, putting a hand to his head. "See it's just... I'm not going to get as many sponsors because people will assume that I'm..."

"Gay." I help along, with a meek smile.

"-and that means that some people, you know, won't want to sponsor me..." Holland goes quiet, suddenly glum. "You saw the other guys on those chariots. Who would you sponsor if you were back home, watching us? Not me, that's for sure."

As hard as it is to say, I know what Holland is trying to say. I saw some of the other guys, and yeah- there are quite a lot of lookers in the bunch- but that's not to say that Holland completely out of the running. Sure, he's not 'rugged' or 'smoking'- but he has a baby faced charm that's made a lot of girls in our year hold an interest in him.

"-you're wrong Holland."

My voice surprises him. As he looks back at me, I smile kindly- slipping my arm around his and pulling him into my side, giving his arm a gentle squeeze in mine.

"If I was at home, I'd sponsor you- because I know you," I hear the doors begin to open, and the horses huff loudly. "But you know what?"

Holland looks completely enraptured. "What?"

Without missing a breath, I plant a quick kiss on his cheek and pull away- flashing him my signature wink as I pull the both of us up a little by our linked arms.

"I'm not home, I'm here with you. And that's how it's going to stay Holly."

The effect is instantaneous. Steadying himself and wiping the tears that had begun to form in his eyes, Holland Wickbird heaves a quick sigh before beaming with pride back at me, just as the light from outside hits us- sending beams of light sparkling off our reflectors.

"Let's win this crowd Chess."

We both grin like mad.

"Let's."

There's no way Sector 3 is going to be overshadowed by the other chariots.

Not when we shine this brightly.

**

* * *

**

_Vinel Greggorus; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 4._

'_You look amazing in that dress_.'

That's what I _want _to say. Not only to Minerva- who has, much to my disliking, made a point of not making eye contact with me- but to a whole lot of the other girls who I had watched shuffling into the chariots. Minerva is the only one I've seen up close though- and from what I can say- my first impression of her was right on the money. _Beautiful_.

Not that I'm crushing on her, I just appreciate the beauty.

I'm pretty glad though- because her popularity is sure to rub off onto me, since I'm her Sector partner. It happens. Surely there are already some dire hard watchers out there who have already got us paired up in their minds- but I'm still convinced that all girls are a hassle, and as beautiful as Minerva may be, I won't go there.

-Not unless she cracks onto me first. Heh.

Our chariot is the next one to roll out. Minerva and I watched the Sector 3 ride rumble out into the sunlight in silence- as the two tributes riding it link arms and began to wave. I can tell that she is just as surprised as I am to see any of our Sectors having any sense of camaraderie together, especially when we don't.

I can't help but wonder if any of the tributes have formed any enemies though. Then again, none of us have really had the chance to talk- so I suppose it's not likely.

-I'm really hoping that's true anyway. It'd put me at a huge disadvantage if everyone has already figured out who they're allying themselves with. Because the only tribute I've had any contact with is currently staring blankly ahead at the open doors, waiting for our turn.

Minerva really does look good though, all done up in layered netting and seashells. They've covered up all the best bits- a bit too well some of the nudity fans might say- but it's plain to see she's got an amazing form on her. If I weren't so adept at being subtle with my glances- she'd probably have noticed my staring at her by now.

Perhaps I ought to say something. Clear the air between us before she begins to think horrible things about me- that may come back to haunt me once the two of us are in the arena, where she could exact revenge over nothing.

"Minerva?" It's not a good sign when she shudders at the sound of my voice, but I do my best to ignore it as she turns her blue eyes to me. "I just want to say, good luck. And, if you don't mind me saying, you look amazing."

As casually as I say this- it doesn't come out half as casual as I wanted- because the young woman narrows her eyes at me, obviously suspicious of me.  
Not wanting to dig myself into a hole, I chortle- awkwardly- and continue.

"I'm sure your husband will be, uh- happy to see you."

As soon as I say those words- I regret them. Minerva Nanaia's eyes narrow, and her right hand clutches her ring finger as she watches me with a very clear anger.

"That's fiancé, not 'husband'- we're not married yet," The way she growls this tells me that she's plainly bitter about that fact. Not that I can blame her. Being put into the Hunger Games instead of getting married isn't exactly a nice way to be delayed to the altar. "And if you're thinking you can score with me, you're dead wrong, pinkie."

Ah. I was hoping she wouldn't draw attention to that. We're dressed in the same sort of costume- seashells, netting and seaweed- and I've been given a rather solid trident to hold up as a prop- but...  
The stylists couldn't dye my skin back to white in time for the chariots- but not for lack of trying. They were aware of this before they even began the treatment- which involved a rather painful acidic bath and a _lot _of scrubbing. When that didn't work, they tried to dye me white but...

-the dyes coalesced. Purple and white make pink, evidently. A very bright, neon shade of pink.

Though they promised me they'd fix it in time for the interviews.

"I'm not trying to '_score_' with you, Nanaia, I have a sense of decency you know-" When the girl snorts, doing her best not to look away and laugh- I continue anyway. "And I'm sorry, I didn't realise that complimenting a girl was equivalent to sexual harassing her."

This seems to have an effect on Minerva, because she stiffens a little and then her shoulders lower. Not looking at me, I hear her mutter something along the lines of 'sorry'- and that she's under stress from this whole ordeal. She doesn't say a whole lot more than that- and I'm currently making the decision that, based on the flash of temper I almost saw- I won't be bothering Minerva any more than I have to as my Sector partner.

"Vinel, I have to ask you something," The crowd outside begins to cheer as Minerva looks back at me. "Are you going to be... difficult- as my Sector partner?"

"...do you mean 'make trouble for you'?"

A little sternly, she nods. "Yes, exactly."

"Well, no- I don't plan to make trouble for you," I have to say, I'm a little surprised how straight forward this girl is. "Especially not now, after that display."

To my surprise, this merits me a giggle and a hint of a smile.

"...to be honest... I'm not as scared as I think I should be," Minerva looks at the doors, open but blinding us from the intensity of the light outside. "But yes, everyone's always said I have a temper. Even Vidar."

For a second I thought she said 'Vinel', but I realise my mistake before I question it.

"That's your fiancé's name?"

"Yes," Her face softens in an affectionate sort of smile. "That's him."

I'm about to ask her about him, about how long they've been together- and idle chit-chat similar to that- but the chariot jolts into action and the two of us shut up and the conversation ends with Vidar. As we move and the crowd begins to cheer 'Vinel!' and 'Minerva!'- I'm quickly swept up in the adrenaline of being temporarily famous.

-And for the moment I quickly forget all about Minerva and what was just said.

I suppose it's a good thing too.

Thinking about happy families for too long would've made it a lot harder for me to smile this convincingly.

**

* * *

**

_Ari Saint-Claire; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 5._

Under the bright light of the sun and the high beams of the surrounding street lights- it feels as if I'm on just another stage, and it's just another ordinary performance.  
But it's not just another performance- and this chariot ride is my one big chance aside from the interview to show the world that I'm not just a little singer. I can't screw it up.

Laco hasn't said a word since we were pushed onto the chariot by the peacekeeper and his gun- but I haven't exactly encouraged any conversation, so it's not that surprising. Most tributes in our position just smile, wave and... well, egg on the crowd around them. They don't bother with one another.  
To be completely honest, I'm still a little unsure about Laco. The way he offered his allegiance so readily makes me suspicious- but as hard as I'm trying to figure him out- I'm not sensing any malice or ill will in the guy.

When we rolled out of the remake centre- the crowd's roars hit us like a huge wall of sound. I remember smiling the usual stage smile- but I quickly hid it away- remembering that 'Ari Saint-Claire' isn't who I want to be anymore.  
It was hard though. As we circle about the Capitol square behind the first four chariots- it's hard to focus on interacting with the crowd when you don't really feel like acknowledging them at all.

George told me, before I was pushed into the hands of our stylists, to just act like I usually do on stage. That this ride is just another performance- and that if I want sponsors, I should show the crowd what they want to see-

Their little Ari Saint-Claire, still happy- and not blaming them for what's about to happen next.

A girl in the crowd, right on the sidelines waves at me frantically, and somehow I notice her. I try to smile- but all I achieve is a nervous spasm across my face as my fingers twitch by my sides. The girl probably doesn't know that I even saw her.

...why is this so hard...? This doesn't seem at all like a regular performance. In performances I'd be dancing, singing- and the lights would blind me from the crowd. However here, all I can see _is _the crowd... but they can't see me at all, can they?

"You don't have to acknowledge them."

I barely hear him, but it's clear enough to recognise. Turning my head so I can see him in the corner of my eye- I catch sight of my Sector partner doing the exact same thing. Laco Sykora's silver-spotted eyes somehow manage to capture all of my attention in an instant.

"You're not obligated to show them anything," He barely opens his mouth, but I can hear him perfectly. "We can just stand still."

"I know, but..." I can't talk as quietly but as clearly as he can. My voice trembles a little as I begin to realise the nerves that are gripping me. "I feel like... I feel like I should be moving right now..."

That probably doesn't make any sense to him, but I don't feel like elaborating.

Laco doesn't say anything. My attention is drawn back to feeling incredibly pressured by this crowd of Capitol citizens- and I feel as if I'm about to fall to my knees- when suddenly my left hand is gently taken into his.

"Face me."

My first instinct tells me to shake my hand free of his in one swift movement- but I don't. Slowly, and a little unsure of what exactly this guy has planned- I turn to face him. Though I hear the crowd begin to buzz in confusion on what's going on- as Laco places my left hand upon his shoulder- and then delicately takes hold of my right hand- it all dies away when we lock our eyes together.

...and immediately I know what we're going to do.

With a swallow, I nod.

"...alright."

-And we begin the dance.

Laco's pacing is decent enough, not that I know a whole lot about ballroom dancing, and I'm almost surprised by how firm his stance is. I've never danced with anyone before- except my Father when I was very little, and that was on his shoes. The steps are easy enough, but whenever I go to look down- it's almost as if a hand is tilting my chin back to keep my eyes on my partner.  
He's smiling, and I feel a small smile of my own take hold of my lips. All my uncertainty washes away as we gently step about one another- ignoring the increasing roar of the world around us.

-But I can't shake the suspicions about him that lurk inside me. After two minutes of waltzing together, I feel a coy sort of smile stretch across my cheeks.

"Why are you so kind to me Laco?" I raise an eyebrow, giving his hand a light squeeze. "What's your agenda?"

"No agenda," his smile doesn't disappear, but I can tell he's having difficulty keeping it up. "At least, nothing that bears you any ill will."

"So there _is _an agenda?" My heartbeat quickens as we turn round a corner, catching a glimpse of the television screens. Sure enough, there we are in full view- dancing. "Good will or not, are you going to tell me what it is?"

A pause. His smile flickers.

"...are you sure you want to know?"

Such a simple answer, but filled with an unknown strength. There's a small part of me that doesn't want to know- just so I can build this image of this sweet guy dancing with me- and not have it shattered by reality. But common sense wins over.

"...I think I should know." I say breathlessly, shaking a stray piece of hair away from my face. "Don't you?"

Again, I'm met with silence. But the way his eyes finally look down from mine- I realise that this isn't something I'm going to be able to coax out of him now, no matter how hard I try.

Gripping his hand tightly in mine, I hold him a little more steadily than before. "...don't worry... let's just keep dancing for now, okay? I feel a little better."

This seems to put the guy at ease, but his smile doesn't return again- and neither does mine. Our fluttering dance continues all the way up until we reach the city circle; pulling up outside the President's mansion. When the District 5 chariot rolls to a gentle stop, the two of us stare at each other before finally allowing our hands to slowly part.

Moans and cheers of approval rise from the crowd, but I can't think too hard on them as the two of us Sector 5 tributes sever our gaze and face the President atop his balcony. Right now we're all meant to focus on his address, and nothing else.

-But I can't stop thinking about how odd my hands suddenly feel.

**

* * *

**

_Brandit Gailer; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 6._

I'm not sure what happened, but I'm fairly sure that my Sector partner is terrified of me.

Here on the run of the chariot rides, it's not a big problem- though I have to admit that it is bothering me a little. She seemed fine with me in the car ride to the remake centre, but when we walked into the room with the chariots- the girl kept eyeing me from a distance, like she was facing off some dangerous animal.

There was no time to ask her when the chariot started moving- and now we're standing in the orange twilight of the Capitol, listening to the President talk on about forgiveness and fate. While it is hard not to listen to the guy talk about nothing- he's basically just asking the crowd for his own forgiveness regarding this Quell- I can't help but let my eyes wander. Not just to the girl beside me, quaking in the boots of her medical costume- but to all the other chariots lined up around us.

I only saw a little of everyone on the screens. Most of the screen time was dedicated to the guy from 2, who had done some sort of acrobatic stunt and ended up riding one of the chariot horses bareback- and Ari Saint-Claire on the Sector 5 chariot, doing some sort of awkward two-step with her partner. It seemed to win over the crowd though, because they were still focused on those chariots even when we trailed along behind them.

A few other chariots caught my eye though. The tributes from nine were wearing flashing lights of many different colours- which looked sort of trippy on the screen as the sun began to go down. The crowd seemed to cheer quite a bit for Sector 10- whose tributes were coated in painted blood. Both the tributes sure looked nauseated though.

Aside from them, I can't really say that I had a favourite. I know that I should be more worried about my impression on the crowd- but I can't honestly say I'm worried. While I was getting styled- Sienna- a victor from District 6- came in to introduce herself as mine and Faye-Anna's mentor.

_"You can relax big guy,_" She had said with a touch of a smirk. "_For being the first to volunteer, the entire Capitol already has you picked as one of the top five potential victors in terms of odds._"

Knowing that- I couldn't really worry about the chariots.

-It's sort of funny though, knowing that just because I volunteered to be part of this Game of my free will- everyone has me pegged as a guy able to win it all. I'd be happier about it if I knew that the whole Capitol felt that way.

"_-you lied when you didn't tell me you were going to do this!_"

Neon's words still resonate inside my head- hitting nerves and pulling at my guilt. Between her and Vin, I always thought that if Vin didn't understand my motives- than at least Neon would.  
Though, after thinking about it... I don't think I fully understand my motives either...

This morning, I only had a thought that I _might_ volunteer. It wasn't even a coherent thought either. But now I look down at the doctor's coat draped around my bare chest and the weedy pair of white shorts I was given- and I realise that I'm actually here, about to be pushed into the Games in a matter of... six days?

"-and to each of our twenty-four Capitol tributes... I wish you the best of luck."

My neck bristles when I realise that the President has just wrapped up his address, and that everyone is clapping. Absent-mindedly, I put my hands together as well, though I can see that I'm only one of the few tributes who do. Faye-Anna is still clutching at her skimpy doctor's outfit, shivering.

-I hope it's because she's cold. The idea that she's so terrified of me it makes her physically tremble isn't making me any happier.

Slowly, the chariots begin to move again. First Sector 1 begins to trundle along- and then 2, 3... and so forth until we're moving, and all the Sectors behind us are in full move as well. There's not so much waving from any of the tributes as there was before, almost like we're all exhausted with this front of unity we have to put on.

Every few moments I glance over at Faye-Anna, and most of those times she's eyeing me back- but with panic in her eyes. As we lock eyes for the fourth time, just as we're slowly reaching the stables where we emerged from- I decide that I've had enough.

"Why are you so scared of me?"

The girl looks positively horrified that I'm even speaking. "W-What?"

For a moment I don't say anything, simply staring down at her with a steel gaze. Though, as her hands begin to tremble- I try to do my best to relax my stance, while still maintaining all the seriousness required for what I want to ask next.

"Do you really think I'm going to kill you?" My arm tenses as I grip the air. "Are you so terrified of me that standing here on this chariot feels like a hazard...?"

Faye-Anna opens her mouth, but only heaving sounds of panic escape as she takes a few tiny steps away from me. Perhaps it's the fact I'm a foot and a half taller than her, this tiny act looks a lot more significant than she realises- and my entire body bristles up- and the girl finally squeaks-

"I'm sorry-" Her voice is timid like the rest of her is, and she cowers by staring over at the crowd behind her. "I didn't mean to... I'm not terrified... I'm not..."

Even her apology is drowning in obvious terror. I can't understand why I'm getting angry, but perhaps it's the fact this girl has me so clearly labelled as a vicious murderer without me even doing anything. This is why my next words come out more as a furious hiss than I originally intend them to-

"-then why are you _so convinced I'm going to kill you_?"

"Because you v-volunteered-!"

Tears begin to spill down her cheeks, pulling her make-up down with each drop as she struggles not to sob. I stare at her in alarm, fighting the urge to double back from the girl. Her words suddenly overtake Neon's, and I'm left with the horrifying echo.

I'm a favourite to win these Games because I volunteered.

People are going to sponsor me because I volunteered.

Tributes are going to fear me because I volunteered.

...when our chariot comes to a stop, and Faye-Anna practically head dives into the arms of her stylist, who takes one look at her tear stained face before looking at me accusingly.

"What did you do Brandit?" His voice is stern, and his arms clamp around the girl's shoulders as she cries into the bottom of his shirt. "Why is she crying?"

But I can't answer him. My hand quakes on the edge of the chariot as I begin to realise what a huge mistake I must have made. How can I answer his question when I can't even answer my own?

-Why did I volunteer?

* * *

**Any feedback is very much appreciated! **

**Capitol Question #004; which tribute do you feel most sorry for?**


	30. What Should be Done?

**A Vivid Note: **ahh, I am so very happy in this moment. My exams are finished, school is over- and I have all the time in the world to write. Prepare for a slew of random updates. I'm very eager to get through all the pre-game antics and get right into the... gentle, sweet-tasting Games...

I have some things already figured out in my head. Alliances and romances mainly- as well as friendships and rivals- and most of the plot points are in place and ready to be written. It'll be fun for you all to discover- though they're all unfolding and becoming clearer yet more twisted with every chapter. Pay attention, will you? Ahaha.

**ALSO**, this story is the story with the most words out of the entire Hunger Games community? I hadn't realised I had written so much! I suppose that's an accomplishment for me to revel in, especially because I'm not even half-way done with this story yet!  
Ah, and I've been nominated for the 'Winter 2010 Hunger Games' award for best SYOC story. Thanks Clara. :) This makes me happy, so I suppose in gratitude I'll try to up the updating rate.

**Capitol Question #005; would you like two tributes to win? If yes, which two? If no, why?**

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Galaxy Jones; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 7._

"Galaxy? Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

As hard as I try, my lip continues to tremble as I stare down into the bowl of soup. The puddle of green and brown looks back at me, and I do my best to poke at a carrot with my spoon to distract me from the tears that threaten to fall.

Today was an awful day. First I'm reaped, sentenced to _death_- with this monstrous black guy who could probably kill me with his bare hands. Then I was humiliated- dressed up as a _tree _– and they even cut off my hair! My gorgeous, silky white hair that I had spent _so long _growing! Now it only reaches the top of my back- when it used to brush against the floor!

-And then- and _then _the chariot rides went by, and I swear no one looked twice at me. I spent the whole time asking why there isn't a stupid District who focuses on stargazing or something. At least _then _I'd have a chance at looking good. What do we need _trees _for anyway? Isn't everything these days made of plastic-?

"Galaxy? You're crying-"

Snivelling, I look up at our escort- Peach, as she looks at me from across the dining table. On the other side of her is my head stylist, who also looks at me with an expression of concern. On the opposite end of the table from Peach is our District escort- Eden, who hasn't even looked up, she instead skewers a piece of chicken in her soup with a fork and shoves it into her mouth, chewing loudly as Ferroh quietly dips bread into his bowl.

"...today's just been a... a really long day..." I whimper, letting my spoon clink against the china. "I don't think... I don't think I want to eat..."

"Well, we have cake if you'd prefer that!" Peach cheerfully suggests, leaning forwards with her blonde hair bouncing. "Come on sweetie; let's put a smile on that face."

Smile? If I could smile, which I _seriously _doubt I even can anymore- I wouldn't do it now, and I wouldn't do it for her. Not when my entire life has exploded into a totally unglamorous supernova.

"Let the girl starve," snarls Eden through a mouthful of meat. "Not like she's going to live through these Games anyway."

Eden's sudden cruelty makes me shrink back into my seat, but it's Peach's suddenly ferocious stare that frightens me out of my mind.

"Eden!" Peach snaps, lips pulled back over her teeth. "Shut it, and stop being such a child."

As unpredictable as Peach's sudden forcefulness had been for me- Eden doesn't look at all surprised, and is still smiling as she reaches forwards to refill her bowl again. Ferroh hasn't looked up either, but he's still slowly chewing on the bite he took two minutes ago.  
Like nothing had just happened- Peach's face returns to a charming smile which she focuses on me; completely ignoring the rest of the table.

"So, Galaxy," Her voice is sugary- and a lot like my own. "Were there any other tributes you liked? Anyone you'd like me to tell you about?"

It's hard not to be frightened of her, knowing how angry she can become. "I..."

"-may I ask?"

The sound of Ferroh's voice still terrifies me. It's deep, but the softness hides and edge I alone seem to be able to hear. When he looks up, I quickly busy myself in my soup again- trying to ignore the urge to cry.

Peach doesn't seem too happy to talk to him, but she obliges. "Who would you like to know about?"

"Who are the youngest tributes?" Ferroh lets his spoon rest in the bowl, focusing on the escort. "Which Sectors are they from?"

"The youngest?" Peach seems surprised. "What do you classify as young?"

"Twelve." Why is he asking about the youngest? Is he trying to scope out who'll be the weakest? The ones to kill first? "Twelve to fourteen."

A few minutes pass as Peach rummages through sheets of paper she must have had stashed under the table. After sorting- she hands Ferroh a small pamphlet, and keeps the rest of the files to herself.

"These are the programs that were given to the crowd, for those who couldn't remember your names," To my surprise, she pushes a pamphlet over to myself as well. "They also have a little blurb about each of you- just from school records, that sort of thing."

...as weird as this is, I'm a little interested. What could they have written about me?

The pamphlet is pretty thick, with three tributes per page. I find a small school photograph of me on the top of the fifth page- and it's _excruciatingly _painful to see that long white hair again now that it's gone.  
As Peach said, there's a short paragraph about me. It says that I was part of the Geology club- which if I sort of wish the omitted because it sounds super dorky when it's written like that- and that my parents are dead and I live with my 'adorable little brother Saturn'...

...Saturn... reading his name makes my heart ache. I wonder how he's doing, trapped in that awful house with the replacement parents. I don't know if it's worse for him to be left alone with them- or to be completely alone.

Thumbing through the rest of the pamphlet- I can see that most of the other tributes range from having normal families to being a lot like me. I find the boy from Sector 8- this scary pale guy who apparently was an orphan, and his Aunt died earlier today of an incident.

Wow. Suddenly I feel a little better, knowing I'm not the only one suffering loss.

A few of the tributes look friendly. The pair from Sector 3 look nice, though- and the girl from 9. Here and there I see tributes that I instantly want to stay away from- like Ferroh- including the girl from Sector 2- who glares at the camera with an annoyed stare.

"You can keep that you know," Peach says, smiling when I look up at her. "I have plenty already- since I'm an escort and everything."

"Oh..." Should I thank her? I don't really want to, since it seems like a trivial thing. Then again, she's trying to be nice to me. "Thanks..."

There's no point in trying to eat anymore. I don't like soup, and I'm not even hungry after all the horrible things that happened today. Really I should just go back to my room, sob a little into the pillow and then try to get some sleep before tomorrow.

With a little resistance against the carpet, I push my chair away from the table. "If you'll excuse me... I want to go to bed..."

"Ah, alright darling- you remember what room is yours?" Peach asks kindly, tilting her head. "Breakfast is seven o'clock sharp. We have to wake up early to get you ready for training."

...training...?

"See you tomorrow."

A cold chill runs up my spine when Ferroh looks up at me from his seat. I try to say goodnight back- but all that comes out is a sick sounding gargle that makes me panic and hurry as quickly from the dining room as possible, clutching my pamphlet to my heart as the door quietly closes behind.

Out of all the tributes I saw today, and the ones I hold in my hand- he'll always terrify me the most.

-and I can't get rid of him.

**

* * *

**

_Diego "D"; 18 years; the Capitol Sector 8._

As I get changed for dinner, thankful to have the chariot rides over and done with, there's a knock at my door that I was no expecting. I ignore the short, rather weak rapping noises to instead pull on a plain white tee and black pants- which, to my slight annoyance- are each about one size too small on my... bulking form.

"-hello?" A voice calls in from outside. "Diego? Are you in there?"

It'd be annoying to call back- so I stiffly walk towards the door and pull it as wide as it can open- and find myself having needing to look down to see Koriana Wilder, still dressed in her patchwork dress.

"What is it?" My voice is gruff, but I can't help that. This girl probably doesn't know however, because she recoils a little.

"I..." She's obviously scared of me. I could tell when we were on the chariots earlier. "...I wanted to talk with you Diego, before dinner. Just the two of us."

Though the last part of her statement wasn't necessary- I could've guessed that's what she wanted- I oblige by stepping backwards into the room, silently gesturing for her to come inside. Though it's obvious that the fifteen year old is hesitant- which I can hardly blame her- I am an eighteen year old who is at least four heads taller than her- she comes in anyway, and seems to decide against sitting upon my bed and chooses to sit upon a spindly guest chair by the dresser.

"...I want you to know that, as your Sector partner..." She's careful with her words. I watch, intrigued as her face goes through a range of peculiar tweaks and expressions. "-I don't mean you any harm, now or... or ever."

Koriana looks at me, possibly expecting some line of questioning or a response. However I simply stare back at her, waiting for her to continue.  
After a few seconds of silent staring, she finally does- but with obvious difficulty.

"...you're not..." She looks down for a moment, but then Koriana looks up once more. "You're not... you're not planning on 'playing the game'... are you Diego?"

Shrewd. I don't know how a girl like her managed to deduce it- seeing as at first glance she does appear to be an empty sort of Capitol girl. Although, earlier I had noticed she was different from her stance, so Koriana's observation shouldn't be that much of a surprise after all.

"I am not," I answer curtly, arms folded. "However I will admit that I have an ulterior game to play in this."

It's obvious she wants to ask what I mean by this, but she refrains- and by this my respect for her grows by a small amount. Instead, Koriana grips the hem of her chariot outfit- and then smiles, rather shakily.

"I'm soglad..." Relief spreads through her voice. "When I first saw you I thought... but then I noticed... you don't look around at the other tributes with contempt. You seem very different... so I thought I'd see if I could..."

"Figure it out?" I finish for her blankly.

Koriana nods. "Yes. I'm not looking for an alliance. I'm just looking for an understanding."

That piques my interest. My arms hang back to my sides as I take a step to the side, doing my best to examine the girl sitting so politely in my room.

"Not looking for an alliance?" I raise an eyebrow, finally allowing emotion to show. "Then why did you begin this conversation with 'I mean you no harm'?"

I expect her to show embarrassment, or anger; for her to ball her hands up into fists- or to start trembling in desperation. However, all Koriana Wilder does is raise a hand to fiddle with a necklace- and she looks at me- her pitch black eyes staring back at me with a strength I wasn't expecting.

"-Because I mean no one any harm," Her words are very final, and her body goes rigid. "I... I refuse to kill. I refuse to play this Game."

Finally, my lips curl into a slight smile. "So you plan to die, Koriana Wilder?"

Again, to my surprise, she shakes her head.

"I refuse to play their Game," Looking up at me, a smile curls across her lips as well. "-And their Game requires me kill others, or die. Doesn't it?"

It happens gradually. As she looks at me with that strong disposition- I begin to laugh. It's a low, soft sort of chuckle- but it's enough to surprise even myself.

"...I underestimated you," I shake my head, still chortling. "I apologise, Koriana."

With an awkward giggle, Koriana scratches the side of her face. "-that's okay, I misread you at first too."

"Did you really?" I'm not actually surprised, and I think it's obvious. "Are you reassured now- or were you expecting your 'understanding' of me would lead to an alliance?"

Being blunt isn't exactly a good quality of mine- however Koriana doesn't seem to be bothered all too much by that. Still with a cordial smile, she shakes her head again.

"I expected nothing of you. Thanks for talking with me, Diego."

Without a word more, she rises to her feet and walks towards the door, opening it again and stepping across the threshold. I decide that it would be only courteous to say goodbye, so I take a step forward and politely say-

"Thank you, Koriana."

She stops. Turning around, her cartoonish black irises looking back at me- she gives me an odd little curtsy and another surprising smile.

"Call my Kori. I hate Koriana."

-As she leaves down the hall to her own room, I remember the reaping- and what she had said there. I'm surprised I had forgotten so easily. 'Kori Rebexa Wilder' she had said, 'Never Koriana.' I had been rather occupied with my epiphanies of 'revolution' so I suppose it had slipped my mind then...

Kori doesn't look any different from the stereotypical Capitol girls I'm used to having stare at me with a mixture of fear and repulsion. But the display she just gave me was remarkably sincere, and I'm obliged to believe she's telling the truth.

"_I refuse to play their Game._"

Then that makes two of us. Two tributes in this Quell that I know won't be complying with what the Capitol wants. Even if we aren't working together, this will help provide them a problem.

...however... I am yet to discern what my point of attack will be in this rebellion. Something has to happen for the public's opinion of their government to sway- and with this Quell in motion- it's like kindling waiting for flint to light a fire, to burn down this totalitarianism.

I'm the hand.

Now all I need is the flint.

**

* * *

**

_Britney Frailer; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 9._

Every face I saw in that crowd was my sisters'. Every single smile and cheer was theirs. When I stood on top of that chariot, with the whole world staring up at me- for a brief moment- I felt like I could win this.

-Then the chariots were over... and I realised how much Sector 9 paled in comparison to the chariots that had rolled out before us. And the feeling disappeared forever.

The costume of electric lights strewn over the black leotard falls with a flump to my room's floor, and I push it away weakly with my foot. It had been fairly light to wear, but now that it's off my shoulders- I feel like it had been incredibly heavy. As used to wearing strange costumes is for me, being a cheerleader and all, I'm thankful to be rid of this one.

Hopefully my interview dress will be more eye-catching than this bundle of wires turned out to be...

Dinner was an ordeal I'm not looking forward to repeating tomorrow over breakfast, lunch and then again- dinner. Sitting there with a roomful of people, all of which are telling me they'll do their best to help me in the arena- not knowing that I have no faith in being able to help _myself _once I reach that stage.

-thinking about the arena makes me feel ill. All I can picture is an endless forest of trees- shadows surrounding me on all sides- as one shadow readies a sharp point to slice me up with.

I never think to long about it, because I end up shivering- and feeling very much like crying.

Monty doesn't seem quite so bothered by our team of 'helpers' or the impending death of the arena. Every time I catch a glance- he's smiling at someone, or talking quite calmly about different things.  
He's not at all like the guy I pictured him when I first saw his silhouette in the car ride here. With all the piercings, flame piercings and a faux-hawk- I was sure he was a bad guy.

I'm not anymore. As much as it had made me happier in the elevator ride, now that I know I'm not certain about him- it just makes me anxious. Just another problem I have to deal with before the problem of a lifetime.

-the Games themselves.

It's just the first day, but I have absolutely no idea how I'm supposed to go about this Sitting down on my bed and pulling on the smooth, silk pyjamas that were left for me- I do my best to think of something, _anything _that could certify my winning these Games.

...blank... it's all blank... what could 'certify' my winning? I can't think of anything...

If my family was to give me advice on how to win- I wonder what they'd suggest for me? Run and hide, while waiting out for everyone else to kill each other? Or pair up with someone strong and hope for the best?  
I know that I don't want to 'go down swinging', because I have very little upper body strength as it is. And with running and hiding, where would I run? Where could I _possibly _hide from the others- _and _the Gamemakers who will try to keep me on the move?

I've watched the Hunger Games before. They don't let tributes sit and wait for others to die. If they hide, they smoke them out somehow- with fires and mutts and all sorts of horrible things.

I can't hide. I can run, but I can't hide. And I know my limits- I'm a cheerleader- I can't run forever...

So what does that leave me? I breathe deeply, pushing my hair up off my face as I stare at the ceiling- sinking deep into my pillows. What options do I have as Britney Frailer, tribute for the Hunger Games?

...team up with others?

Sure but... who would I team up with?

Monty is nice enough, but comparing him to those I saw today- it's not likely he could actually protect me like that. And even so, why would he? Doesn't he have family back home like I do? There's no way he'd put his life on the line for me like that... I wouldn't...  
I haven't talked to anyone else though. In fact, I haven't really exchanged a _glance _with anyone else. At the chariots I was too busy being paranoid about my costume catching on the chariot or the horses.

-falling off would have been _a big problem_. I was worried.

There were a few people who caught my eye. The girl from 11 looked oddly familiar with her rainbow coloured hair- and I have a funny feeling that I've seen her at one of the cheerleading finals. And of course Ari Saint-Claire, but that's sort of natural- she's famous after all. I've never been a huge fan- she got to hang around all the hot celebrity guys after all, and I'm a teenage girl, jealousy is natural- plus her costume was better than mine.

Some of the other tributes looked as if they were similar to me, and would be friendly is I approached them. The girl from 7 with all her vibrant alterations certainly did, and I guess the girl from Sector 8 too. Both of Sector 3 looked nice, chatting and laughing with one another.

...but there's even more that I don't even want to go near. Biting my lip, I try to blot out the angry expression the girl from 2 had, and the girl from 10 with her bandaged hands.

A person like me isn't built for these Games, especially not mentally. All I can think about is my baby sister, beating her fists into the pavement as they scream for me not to go- for them to take my place.

How am I supposed to _kill _other people, knowing that they could have baby sisters just like me waiting back home?

I look at the tribute pamphlet one last time before I try to go to bed. It shakes in my perfectly manicured hands and I feel a catch in my throat as I read the words that are typed beside my picture.

'_-eldest sister of the family, Britney Frailer will surely be fighting for her little sisters and eldest brother waiting for her back home._'

...my sisters... oh...

Tears splatter the page.

"...I... don't... d-don't..."

Once I begin crying, there's no way of stopping. I ball my hands up in my hair, clench my eyes shut and begin to rock gently on the bed as the pamphlet is crushed under my feet on the floor.

I don't want to do this... please...

...don't make me do this...!

**

* * *

**

_Jasse Harridan; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 10._

I've found that it's impossible to try and go to sleep, so I sit in the hallway in front of the elevator- which is the only source of any real entertainment. The light usually stays on the first floor- but every now and then I can see the numbers light up, and move from level to level.

It struck me as an idea to go 'night exploring', which used to be something I did when I was a little kid- sneaking out my window and walking about the neighbourhood pretending I was some sort of evil fighting, secret agent, ninja guy like in the films. However right now that seems a lot less appealing, since there's a good chance I'd run into a fellow tribute- and they might not be as meek as Evon is.

Yeah, I'll admit it. I'm scared of what the competition is gonna be like. I saw some of those faces on the chariot rides, and it's obvious they're prepared to fight for their lives. The pair from 2, that girl from 4 who's apparently meant to be getting married- not to mention the volunteers from 6, 7 and 11. They _volunteered_, for Christ's sake.

Though my parents- who I'm still pissed at for not taking this more seriously than they did- were so happy for me to be in the Games, I can't ever imagine being _proud _by being in them. Killing other people... there's no honour in that. I've spent years training myself to be strong, physically, mentally and spiritually- and in no way do I think killing is 'good'.

Martial arts are my only real physical skill. Yeah, I can flip about and shit- but that's just because I'm nimble. The problem though? Because I have so much respect for what I've learned, I don't even want to use it in these Games because then I'd be no better than that pack of cowards who took it up- fearing that they'd be chosen for these Games and they could use what they learnt against each other.

-And there is _no way _I'm sinking down to their level.

What I want to do is find someone like me. Strong, but with morals; who doesn't want to kill other people and knows that they probably won't make it out of this thing alive.

My best bet at winning this thing would be if they call it off right before it begins.

The light from '11' flicks to 'R', which I can only assume means 'Roof'. I have the image of the little boy I had seen earlier heading up there to cry his eyes out, or the girl staring out across the city. As harmless as both of them had seemed, I don't really feel the need to go inside and check if I'm right.

-Nothing is really waiting for me up there. City lights and a night sky where you can't see the stars. Big whoop. As much as I love living in the metropolis of the Capitol, I'd love to actually _see _the stars someday. I'm fifteen, and I've never been given the chance.

Guess my only chance will be in the arena.

This thought makes me snort. So one good thing has come of me being reaped for the Quarter Quell. I'll get to see the stars for the first, and quite possibly the _last _time in my life. That's got to be a new way of looking at these Games.

Do the Districts ever think about how lucky they are that they aren't bombarded by this technology every day of their lives? All the alterations, gadgets and complete lack of nature? I bet they hate us because they think we're lucky- living in gizmo-centre.  
Almost makes me want to hate them.

Sitting here in the darkness of this hall, this is probably the closest I've gotten to nature- and I'm not even _outside_. My instructor, martial arts instructor, said that most of the techniques we learn come from 'the Far East', which is apparently some continent or continents that existed years and years and _years _ago.  
They were in tune with nature apparently. Something about fields and rice and... mountains I guess. He taught us that stuff when I first joined, and I have to admit, I was pretty disrespectful back then.

I joined the martial arts class because I thought it'd be fun. And yeah, it was- but it also taught me more than that. It made me the person who I am today.

The boy, Jasse Harridan, who is now sitting in this hallway- facing death.

The light flickers from '4' to 'R'.

I guess someone has just joined whoever from Sector 11 is up there.

"-Jasse?"

I hadn't heard her door open. Looking up- Evon is illuminated in the very faint light of the elevator. With a sigh, I pat the floor beside me- and the girl takes a seat.

"Couldn't sleep?" I ask, still staring at the elevator lights flick from level to level.

She shakes her head, resting her hands between her knees. "No, my hands really hurt. I went to see Dalton and he said they'd do what they could tomorrow."

Dalton is District 10's mentor. He's only twenty since he won a couple of years back, but he's sort of scary looking. His hair is fashioned into bull horns- which might've looked funny if his face wasn't so serious.

"Sucks that your hands got so badly hurt," I say quietly, with a sympathetic smile. "Hopefully they can heal them before the Games start."

"I hope they don't."

That was unexpected. Freezing, I look at Evon as she stares down at her thickly bandaged hands, arms trembling as she tries not to cry.

"I killed a man with these hands. And in return, he killed my hands..."

...

...

"I'm... sorry."

...

There's nothing else I can say. Having this girl interrupt my thoughts with her own dilemma confuses me so much I don't know what I can possibly do to cheer her up- let alone myself.

"...I'm sorry too."

...

She doesn't stay much longer. There's nothing more for the two of us to say to one another, so I can't blame her when Evon silently stands to her feet and struggles back into her room.

It's not until much later that I have to ask myself...

-what was she apologising to me for?

**

* * *

**

_Cotton Valamine Ferier; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 11._

It's a huge relief to finally cast the god awful crown of thorns and leaves from my head into some forgotten corner of the hallway. All I want to do is stamp on it until it breaks into a million little brittle pieces- but I'm not wearing shoes, so that's out of the question.

The chariot rides were a complete _disaster_.

How was I supposed to gain any sponsors when the first bunch of Sectors stole the entire show? By being cursed with Sector 11, I was forced to be completely overlooked in favour of the ten chariots that rolled out before me!  
I should've known that was going to happen, but I couldn't help hoping otherwise. How could I not? I want to do well so that I don't have to worry; so that my family doesn't have to worry.

'Vince' was a complete waste of a partner. Part of the reason our chariot paled in comparison to everyone else's was because instead of waving to the crowd or simply standing still- he began to wail, _loudly_. People were so busy feeling sorry for him that they probably struck the _two_ of us out as competitors!

My luck is terrible, isn't it? Not only am I picked for the Hunger Games- I'm shoved in with a Sector partner that brings me down with him. I was so furious with him that I couldn't even sit through dinner. I took two bites of the bread used to dip in the soup- stood up- excused myself- and here I am, pacing angrily in the hallway.

I just... I _need _to get out of this place. Somewhere where I can breathe, and where I don't have to spend another _second _thinking about all the things that have the chance to hold me back from winning these Games; succeeding and going back home to my family.

"The roof is free."

The sound of someone else's voice surprises me, especially since I didn't hear anyone walk into the hallway. As I whirl around, I see our 'mentor' the aged, white haired Moyna- who is looking at me with those steely eyes and a frown on her lips.  
I frown as well. I don't appreciate people sneaking up on me, or telling me where I should go.

"You look tense; the roof will calm you down." Not saying much else she turns on her large foot and walks back to the dining room. "It's the closest you can get to the outside."

And with that, the huge woman is gone- and I ponder how on Earth a woman as big and dull as her could have ever won the Hunger Games, and why she says things like 'the outside'. What does she think this is- prison?

-Although, before I know it, I'm in the elevator ramming the 'R for Roof' button with my index finger as hard as I possibly can.

Right now, getting away from that gaggling prep-team is my first priority, along with the hulking Moyna and snivelling Vince. I haven't had a moment to breathe since the reaping, and if I feel any more suffocated by my misfortune than I'm going to pop at any second.

There's a soft 'ding' noise as the elevator reaches the very top of the building, and I'm very surprised to see a rather beautiful built in garden waiting for me. The entire rooftop is surrounded by a rather high stone wall- to stop idiots from tumbling head first over the edge I guess- but the view is more gorgeous than the garden, and I can't help but gasp.

"...wow..."

All of the Capitol is alight. Every window of every building gleams up at me as I stand here at the top of the world. There's a sensation in my heart that brings a smile to my face- causing my body to relax as I lean against the stone- staring out across Panem's surface. And in an instant, all my misfortune washes away as I take my first breath since this morning.

...I can do this. I know I can do this.

"_-and I'm going to win these games!_"

When I had said that, there'd been this rush of energy pulsating through me. Like I could do anything, and nothing could stop me. And when I stand up here, that feeling slowly ebbs through me again- and I can't help but smile.

I'm going to go back home to them, I know it. Mom and Volt, and even those step-brothers of mine- Taz and Walker; I'll be happy to see them. And then I can go back to complaining about sharing a room with Ribbon, and I'll be able to tell Glitz 'See? I came back. I'm a good sister.'

This morning seems like a year ago. I've spent longer periods of time away from my family on school trips- but this time actually hurts. I wonder how they felt, seeing me dressed up in gaudy thorns and leaves...

...speaking of- I'm still wearing this damn dress...

Since no one else is up here- there's little for me to care about when I strip it off, standing only in the meagre pair of white underwear they had allowed me to wear underneath the itchy costume. It's pleasantly cool- not at all freezing- and I heave yet another sigh of relief.

"-boy, if I knew you were waiting up here- I'd have come up sooner."

I almost die on the spot. Spinning around and frantically covering my bra with my arms- I'm horrified to see a shirtless, pink-skinned guy with neon green hair looking me up and down with a smirk on his face.

"Nice unicorn tattoo," He says, eyes focused on my hip. "Random, but I like random girls."

That's a line. Not a good one, but I can tell when I hear one. I have years of experience. This guy must be all charm and no brains. Usually the type I'd jump at- since he is pretty gorgeous, I'll grant him that- but I'm not in the mood right now.

"For your information, it means something." Trying to be confident, I let my arms rest by my sides, also looking him up and down.

The guy cocks an eyebrow. "Oh? What does it mean?"

I was hoping he wouldn't ask me that. A little flustered, I look around for an answer to give- but all I can do is draw a blank. My voice reaches an all new octave as I spurt out-

"It means I like unicorns- okay?"

Frankly, I don't blame him at all for laughing- but it just embarrasses me more. I feel a little disappointed in myself for showing any sort of weakness to a fellow tribute- so when he walks up beside me and looks over the railing, I don't look him in the eyes as he gives the view a low whistle.

"Pretty," He grins at me, teeth sparkling. "So, I'm Vinel Greggorus- Sector 4. Nice to meet you, girl in her underwear."

"Sh-shut up," Kneeling down, I snatch up my discarded costume, regretting taking it off now. "I only did it because the costume was itchy-"

"Ha, try wearing three layers of fish netting after having your skin dye removed in a _botched_ acidic bath." He holds out his arm for me to see. "I have to stay like this until training is over. Can you believe it?"

I don't say anything back; instead I hold the costume in front of me to hide my body as best I can. The Sector 4 guy, Vinel continues to stare out across the city, smiling and talking about nothing in particular as I stand in silence, watching him.

How is he so calm? Does the roof have the same effect on him as it did on me? And if that's the case, why is he insisting on wasting time on me when I'm not giving him anything?

"-wondering why a gorgeous guy like me is paying attention to you?"

As hard as I resist it, my cheeks grow hot as I blush- and Vinel's smile grows wider.

"I wouldn't say _gorgeous, _'pretentious' maybe."

"Really?" There's a playful twinkle in his eye. "Well if you're wondering, Sector 11 girl- judging from the thorns- you are remarkably adorable, and I think fate brought us together to meet up on this roof, don't you agree?"

"Not really," If this were an everyday party however, I'd be lapping this right up. "You could've just watched the elevator light flick up the roof and figure you'd see who it was."

The grin Vinel gives me when I say this confirms that.

"Okay, so I'm a failure on picking up female tributes- sue me," Sweeping a hand through his already perfect hair, Vinel's smile shines in the city light. "-And I must say, though this is probably because you're already down to your underwear- I quite like you, Sector 11 girl."

If anyone else said that, they'd sound like a complete sleaze. Yet when Vinel says it, somehow it makes me giggle- perhaps even trust him.

"Not 'Sector 11 girl'," I let the dress fall back to the floor, leaning back over the railing. "Cotton. Cotton Valamine Ferier."

I hold out my hand for him to shake. With a charming smile, Vinel takes it in his- and raises it gently to his lips.

"I think..." He says, pulling away slightly. "We're going to be good friends."

-I think I just found my favourite this year.

**

* * *

**

_Julian Healthcliffe Farraday; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 12._

I'm trying to fall asleep when there's a long creak, and I sit upright in bed- mildly surprised to be interrupted. Who on earth could it be at this time of night? The idea of Sapphire coming in for any reason makes me want to gag- but as I catch sight of the short blonde hair and shy blue eyes- my heart skips a beat as the servant girl comes in, push a maid's cart.

"...hello," I say, unsure of what's going on. "Uh... cleaning?"

Dumb question. Also a dumb thing to do, because I suddenly remember that any servants in this building aren't here because they thought it paid good money.

It's an Avox.

The girl- probably surprised I'm awake and unsure how to do her job with me conscious- hurries into the bathroom, the cart rattling noisily as it passes over the threshold from carpet to tile. I watch in interest, since I've never actually seen an Avox up close before.

There aren't actually a lot of Avoxes in the Capitol anymore. The only reason I know that there used to be was because that part of History- all the rebelling and revolting- it interested me a lot. Torture, that sort of thing. I'm a guy, so it's only natural that's what intrigues me most.

From this distance, she doesn't look any different from a normal human being. I suppose saying that is rude- since genetically she _is _a human being, only minus a tongue a whole lot of basic human rights.  
This servant girl must have done something terrible to have her tongue removed and have herself made into an indentured servant. The only examples I'd ever read were Peace Keepers who went against the line of duty, or government workers who violated national security- stuff like that.

-is my room maid an ex-government agent then? If so, she doesn't look it. She must only be about twenty-four or something- not too much older, surely. How could someone so young- and so beautiful- commit something so terrible that she needed to be punished with the removal of her tongue?

...she can tell I'm watching her. Gazing at her from my bed, wondering about her. Every time she turns to make sure, she looks away- embarrassed and frightened.  
It makes me feel bad, the way she continuously swallows like that. Is she afraid of me, or is she just a little shy?

I feel like helping her out. I don't know why, but I do. So I sit upright, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and standing upright- which only seems to alarm her more.

"-do you need some help?" The bathroom is well lit, and I can see the panic in her eyes. "Or anything, Miss?"

It might just be me, but at being called 'Miss' – the woman stiffened a little. She relaxes into a smile though, which calms me down as well- preferring this face to the scared one from before.  
Though she shakes her head to my offer- she does nothing to stop me when I grab a sponge and push it into the bucket filled with soap suds. I don't really know what to scrub, so I just sort of push it against the nearest wall, scrubbing at it as the woman tries to do what she came in here to clean- which is apparently the barely existent limescale around the bathtub.

After a few minutes of scrubbing my sponge against the wall, I turn and grin. "So... come here often?"

With a tiny smile, the woman doesn't nod or shake her head, but I can that she's feeling a little more at ease. Although I'm still a little unsure why I'm so eager to be around her- perhaps because she's the closest attractive woman I've been near for about a week- but whatever worries I was starting to have about these Games are already melting away.

"My name is Julian," I put the sponge back in the bucket, wringing out the foam as the woman pauses in her work. "What's your name?"

-I regret asking, since she obviously can't tell me- but the woman smiles and points to her mouth, probably reiterating that she indeed _can't _tell me. With a smirk, I sit beside the bathtub, propping myself up on my elbows as I watch her working inside the large, square-shaped ceramic bowl.

This might be fun, I guess. I'd very much like to see what the inside of a person's mouth looks like without a tongue, and this might be my only chance.

"How about we play a game?" I say, raising an eyebrow. "If I can guess your name in the next ten minutes- you have to do whatever I say. Deal?"

The stunned look she gives me seems appropriate- as that's what any girl ever gives me when I offer this sort of deal to them. However, much to my surprise and pleasure- she nods slowly, and I begin to think.

"Okay, but you have to answer yes or no questions to help me out..." I can't help but grin, seeing how she's trying to busy herself with scrubbing. "Does it start with a vowel?"

Not looking at me, she shakes her head. Then that rules out all names starting with A, E, I, O and U.

"-okay, do you have any 'V's in your name?"

Another no. A flicker of a smile brushes against my face as I begin to cross out names in my head, one after the other.  
I may have never been interested in sports or in maths or anything- but when something interests me, I put my whole heart into it. I never fail when I'm committed to it.

Sitting up a little straighter, I ask again. "-are there any 'B's in your name?"

She looks down. Then, again, shakes her head.

I need some sort of 'yes' before I go any further. I was closer with the vowels, so I ought to go back to them.

"Do you have an 'A' or an 'E' in your name?"

Expecting a yes, I'm taken aback when the woman shakes her head again. I can feel myself becoming increasingly frustrated- and soon I begin to shout all sorts of letters and vowels- even numbers- but every question is met with a firm 'no'- and I'm left standing in the bathroom as the woman scrubbing quietly looks increasingly more upset as what is certainly more than ten minutes disappears forever.

"-you have no vowels in your name, and you've said no to every consonant I've said!" Trying not to fly into a rage, I take a deep breath. "So what, you were never planning on properly playing in the first place?"

The woman looks at me, her eyes desperate to blink away the beginnings of tears. Surprised, I can almost hear the voice she must have lost whispering desperately.

Quietly, I feel the words come forth. "...you... have no name?"

Slowly, she nods.

"...you were born... to an Avox...?"

And she nods.

Swallowing hard, I turn around and walk back to my bed. I'm exhausted, wracked and feeling emptier than I ever have before in my life. The past ten minutes have affected me more than the last seventeen years of my life.

"...I lost... but... can you do me the favour anyway?"

Looking over my shoulder, a few seconds pass before I see her head move up and down slowly. Smiling, I lie back on the pillow- knowing that there's a good chance I'll never see this woman again- or the winnings of this favour- but what I'm about to do will make sure she never forgets me.

"When I die, from that moment on- call yourself 'Julia'."

...

And she nods.

Smiling, I roll over and push my cheek into the pillow, willing myself to sleep.

I have no regrets.

* * *

**I appreciate any feedback you might have. :)**

**Capitol Question #005; would you like two tributes to win? If yes, which two? If no, why?**


	31. Let it Fly and Fall

**A Vivid Note: **I'm bristling with excitement now. _Training~!_ Are you all very excited to see the tributes that, most of which hasn't fought a day in their lives pick up their weapons and... pick up on one another? Fufufu, I'm very excited.

If you haven't _picked up_ on it yet, yes- there'll be a number of chapters before the Games start. I want all the tributes to have a number of perspectives before I begin to slaughter them off. I've warned you multiple times- but I am a brutal murderer. When a tribute dies... I have a tendency to be cruel. Forgive me.  
There may be an example sometime soon... just to show you what I can do. You'll see, darling. x

**Capitol Question #006; which tributes would you like to see 'partner up' (not romantically)?**

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Jason Blackheath; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 1._

Somehow I fell asleep last night. I don't really know how exactly, since I've never been able to sleep on my stomach before- but with these wings sticking into my shoulder blades, I couldn't exactly sleep on my sides or my shoulders.

When I walk out to get breakfast, I'm greeted by our Sector's escort; whose name it turns out is Mona- as well as the prep teams, our mentor Antony- and of course, the little Liotta, who I sit beside and smile awkwardly at as I pour myself some breakfast juice.

"It's a big day today!" Mona squeals, clapping her hands to her cheeks. "Oh you better have a lot of fun training and making friends with the others."

It's still hard to believe she might be serious. If she is, she's a complete idiot. If she's not, she's the worst person on the _planet_- excluding the people who watch the Games with a bucket of popcorn and fan flags.  
Swallowing the sigh that fights me, I reach over to make some cereal- only to have the container smacked out of my hand by a tutting Antony.

"Carbs boy- you need them." With that, he jerks a thumb over his shoulder at the buffet cart loaded with bacon, sausages and any other kind of meat that people eat for breakfast. "Get to it beanpole."

The psychotic grin he flashes at me reminds me why I don't like the Hunger Games. I remember when Antony won two years ago, back when he was eighteen. The guy looked normal enough on the chariots- done up in nothing but sapphires and a toga looking get-up- but then the Games began to unravel and he just sort of... lost it.

Now that grin is all anyone can remember of him- all of his teeth bared like some sort of wild animal. Apparently women find him attractive, though I can't see the appeal in someone who's insane.  
-I certainly hope Amethyst doesn't think so.

...I really miss her. If I hadn't been reaped, I bet she would've stayed the night last night, and we'd be talking today about anything except the Hunger Games...

"Liotta sweetheart, have you looked at the pamphlet I gave you?" Mona asks sweetly as my back is turned. "Thought about any potential allies?"

I can't see anything since I'm piling food I don't plan to eat onto my plate- but the disapproving tutting noises that follow leads me to believe that Liotta just shook her head.

"Now sweetie, I know that there's still five days until the Games, but honestly- you have to get a head start on things." Mona sighs, and when I turn around she's flopped backwards into her seat. "I really don't want to lose my position as District 1 escort to that airheaded _Missy_."

Missy must be the escort for 2. I can't help but wonder if all the escorts have this kind of rivalry going on. The thought of all these brightly coloured women attacking each other makes me snicker a little as I sit down at the table.  
-my amusement catches Antony's attention, whose smile stretches unnaturally wide- deep into his cheeks as his teeth glint under the room's light.

"What is it boy?" His voice is light, but there's an undeniable edge hiding there that makes me push away into my chair. "Something funny? Tell Uncle Antony, go on."

Uncle? He's only three years older than I am.

"Now Antony, don't scare the poor boy- he's recovering from major surgery," Mona scolds lightly, reaching over and gently stroking my hair- which I pull away from, trying to hide my annoyance. "How are you feeling Jason? Does your back hurt?"

"No," I lie. Just by saying that the pain seems to make itself known by sending a dull ache down my spine. "I feel fine."

Mona looks pleased, but I can see Liotta has suddenly stopped eating and is looking decidedly upset. There's no time to dwell on this because the needle smiling mentor leans back in his chair and cracks his knuckles.

"You're a horrible liar boy," Opening an eye, he seems to swell with pleasure when I stare blankly at him. "Aren't you angry?"

As easy as it would be to say yes, it's odd to hear _him_ asking such a question. "Why would I be angry?"

It's a peculiar moment. I see Mona open her mouth to stop Antony from speaking. The two teams of stylists sit on opposite sides, unmoving. I watch as Liotta's eyes open wide, and her hands grip the table as she turns to see the words escape. And before the man even speaks- I hear Lurco's voice from yesterday- static but loud-

"-_BefoRE you stARt complaining, kEEp in MIND that your MENTOR APProved tHe IDeA-_"

The china plate bursts across the carpet as I violently rise to my feet. A white hot rage floods into my face as Antony looks up at me, beaming with pride.  
I can't control the anger that is boiling over inside me. I know the entire room is staring at me in shock- but all I can see is that smiling devil who cursed me with this pain.

"You did this-?" I hiss, reaching backwards and grabbing a fistful of wing. "You were the one who forced me to have these damn things-?"

"Couldn't help myself boy," Antony croons, mocking Mona's tone of voice. "I've wanted to get back at you Capitol dogs since I first saw death. And now, thanks to this Quell- I get the joy of watching you both die in the arena _and _torturing you until you get there."

Without warning, I lash forwards, whipping my glass of breakfast juice off the table with such force it smashes violently into the wall. Shards cut into my hand and wrist, but I don't give a damn. I don't _damn _care.

"-you think I'm just going to _let you _torture me?" I shout furiously, slamming my hands onto the table- not caring for the shards that pierce through my palm. "I'll shred you up for what you've done to me-!"

The room falls silent. Liotta's spoon clatters to the floor as she begins to quake with barely contained sobs- only matched by Mona, who is silently trying to motion to the Avox servants to try and clean the mess I have made.  
I don't move. My face feels like it's on fire as my teeth- bared to the open air as I struggle not to throw myself forwards and attack this bastard- barely able to stomach the grin that grows ever wider on his face- but it's not until he speaks that I feel sick to my stomach at what I've just done.

"Mona darling, I've changed my mind," With a wild grin, his eyes begin to glint maliciously. "I _like this one_."

...I don't know... I don't know what's come over me...

...Amethyst... I... I'm scared...

**

* * *

**

_Francesca Emmeline von Bardot; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 3._

When Holland and I reach the training room, I have to do a double take just to take it all in. It's like our school gymnasium- only about ten times bigger, with many- _many _stations all propped up here and there- including obstacle courses, dummies strung up on moving mechanisms- even what looks like synthetic trees for climbing.

"Did you know it was going to be this big?" I ask Holland, astounded.

He shakes his head. "No, I've never been anywhere except my Dad's styling room."

I guess none of the tributes will have been here before then.

As someone pins a bold red '**3' **to my shirt- which was laid out for me this morning with a pair of plain black shorts- I can't help but look at the tributes who are already here. I can see the pair from 10, and the pink skinned boy from 4 with his Sector partner, though they're not talking. It's a little surprising to see Sector 2 here so early, though they're standing as far away from one another as possible- which isn't all that surprising from what I saw yesterday on the recap of the chariot rides.

It was amazing. Holland practically screamed when the boy- 'Marshall' the caption read- back flipped off that chariot and smack dab onto the horse. I was stunned that the horse didn't take off in alarm.  
Our escort this morning told us to keep an eye out on him, as well as his Sector partner. Apparently they're both in the top five favourites picked to win this Quell.

-Holland and I apparently didn't make those favourites.

Although it takes time, once all twenty-four of us tributes are assembled here in the training centre, a toned, muscular man with golden skin announcing himself as 'Atlas' explains the regulations of training. We're allowed to come and go from any station we choose- but if we need a sparring partner we're to ask the experts for assistance, not to fight with one another.

I guess they're worried we're going to make a pre-emptive move and kill someone before we get to the arena. Though I have to wonder- what'd happen if that happens? And has that ever happened before?

Atlas lets us go, and some tributes immediately fan out- while a few stick around like Holland and I. I don't pay attention to them, and turn to Holland, taking his lower arm in my hand.

"Let's go to the climbing section," I suggest, smiling. "It looks like it'd be the most fun."

It's also the most deserted, which is what I was kind of expecting, as well as hoping.

The trainer seems happy to teach us, and he picks out a simple starting tree for us to practice scaling. The word 'simple' is applied a bit too liberally in my opinion- because the tree is thin and pale looking- with no branches to get a hold of- only bits of bark that jut out in odd places that crumble away when I try to snare onto them.

"-hey, Holly-" I look over my shoulder at Holland, who expressed he wanted to go second. "Help me up this thing?"

"Eh?" He looks a bit hesitant. "...it looks a bit... um..."

"Please?" I tilt my head onto my shoulder, pouting slightly. "Help Chessie out. I'll help you out when it's your turn."

This makes him laugh, and- with a little difficulty- Holland's hands on my heels helps me reach the halfway mark of the tree before I lose my grip and fall backwards onto him- laughing all the way.

"I don't think I'm very good at this," I breathe heavily, looking over my shoulder at the crushed boy. "You want to try?"

"N-No, I don't..." Holland scrambles to get out from under me, but I'm pinning down his legs. "Um, do you want to...?"

"Move?" With a playful grin, I shake my head. "No, I think I'll stay here- thank you!"

Holland begins to thrash about, starting to laugh as I struggle to stay upright. "Chess- get off of me!"

The two of us tussle about on the floor as the trainer looks on; hilariously confused at how easy going Holland and I seem to be. Luckily we get back on track- and Holland starts climbing the tree- only this time aided with a small knife to help gain some hold.  
To my surprise, he's doing much better than I was. Though I have a very small, nimble figure- I don't have much in the way of strength in my arms or legs- so hoisting myself up was a problem. Holland however manages to reach the halfway mark, and it's not until the bark starts getting harder to pierce that he starts having difficulty.

"I hope the arena doesn't have much climbing..." He breathes, sweating a little. "This is hard..."

"-But you're doing so well!" I exclaim up at him, still smiling. "You could just hide up a tree and no one could get you!"

For some reason, this only makes Holland look depressed. Perhaps he didn't like thinking that soon we were going to be an arena where we would be _trying _to 'get' one another. Get being a rather stupid euphemism for 'kill or maim horribly'.

I really need to be more careful with what I say.

"Are you two planning on being allies in the arena?" The trainer asks suddenly from behind.

Without missing a beat, I turn and nod. "Yes."

This surprises him for some reason. Perhaps the tributes from District 3 don't usually pair up with one another? Whatever the case, I look up to confirm with Holland- but he's just staring at me with an unreadable expression.

"We're good friends," I continue simply, smiling at the trainer. "Wherever he goes, I go."

The way I say it is final and unquestionable- almost rude I guess- but it makes the trainer smile and leave the two of us be, so I guess it's all he wanted to know. I'm suddenly surprised however when Holland slides down the tree, landing on the padded mat below and looking at me with strange eyes.

"Do you... really mean that?"

I nod again, smiling. "Of course Holly, I mean that."

I expect him to smile, or at least look remotely relieved- but instead Holland just looks downcast, and has trouble meeting my eyes. The way his lip begins to tremble alerts me that he's a nudge away from having a break down.

"...I'm just going to bring you down..."

Oh... oh I don't know what to do. My hand twitches as I consider reaching forwards and touching him, reassuring him that it's all just his imagination. That I haven't considered that at all.  
-But that'd be a lie. I have considered the fact that teaming up with Holland could reduce my chances of winning these Games. It's not something I want to admit.

However, it's my choice. And I want to fight these Games alongside him.

Taking his hand in mine, a shiver seems to run through both of us as I pull him towards me- and without a word- I wrap my arms around him and hug him tightly, squeezing his shoulders.

"Then we're going down together."

I'd never let you do this alone Holland.

-I'd never forgive myself.

**

* * *

**

_Laco Sykora; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 5._

"You don't have to accompany me everywhere," Ari mutters quietly, fishing about in the barrel for a quiver and arrows. "We can go to different stations-"

I knew she'd say something like this. Especially after how quiet she was acting this morning. Thankfully for me, an excuse has already been prepared by Vernon our escort- not that it would've stopped me from keeping a close eye on Ari Saint-Claire.

"Vernon told us to portray ourselves as close friends," I say simply, choosing a leather quiver with six arrows tucked inside. "That way we can help choose trustworthy allies if we're approached."

Stringing the quiver over my shoulder, I flex my shoulder a little from the surprise of how light it really is. Most quivers I've seen are fairly sturdy with wiring- but this looks like it was just made out of a skinned animal and nothing else.  
I guess that's how it's going to be in the Hunger Games if a tribute is forced to craft a make-shift carrier for their arrows.

"How are we supposed to get allies when no one even approaches us-?" Throwing her quiver over her shoulders, several arrows fly from the top and clatter across the floor. "Oh for God's sake-"

Sweeping them up, Ari looks at me with an expression of annoyance and frustration. As much as I like to pretend it doesn't bother me, it does. After yesterday, I was sort of hoping that the two of us would get along easier than this. However, apparently my efforts to be allies have only made her suspicious of me.

It can only get more difficult from here.

"Have you ever shot an arrow before?" I ask as Ari straightens herself up and begins to fiddle with her bow. "Should we get the instructor to help?"

"-For your information-" Ari begins through gritted teeth. "-I _have _used a bow and arrow before. I've actually got very good aim, with a knife or an arrow..."

It's hard for me to believe this; especially with how sheltered the pop idol appears to be. I can't exactly see her Father teaching her how to use weapons, let alone projectiles. It seems like the kind of thing that would spoil her pure, wholesome image.

Curious, I can't help but ask. "Really? Who taught you?"

Ari pauses for a moment, halfway through positioning an arrow against her bow. As she pulls back the string- she says, very unconvincingly-

"No one."

...I guess there's more to Ari Saint-Claire, last example of real beauty left in the Capitol, than I thought.

"What about you?" Ari looks at me, smiling her fake smile. "Ever used one of these before?"

"No," This is true. The only _potential_ weapon I've ever used was a baseball bat, and that barely counts. "First time."

"Then why don't _you _get the instructor- and I'll practice by myself?"

For some reason my gut lurches at the thought of leaving Ari alone, vulnerable to the sly, manipulative tributes that must be lurking amongst the remaining twenty-two teenagers inside this room.

"No," I say hastily. "I'll be fine. I'm sure it isn't that hard."

It's plain to see that Ari wasn't hoping for this, because the second we step up to the targets- she makes a point of undermining me. Shot after shot, she manages to hit inside the inner three rings- twice inside the ring closest to the tiny bullseye.  
I barely make it to the target. Three times my arrow twangs against the wire and skids across the floor- much to a nearby tribute's amusement, who giggles for a moment at me before I notice her, when she quickly turns away and disappears to another training section- the number '**12' **on her back plain to see.

I didn't expect to be any good at this, but I was hoping to get better. I only have two days to train, and then the third day we're judged on the progress we've made.  
If by that time I haven't gained enough skill to protect Ari Saint-Claire, then I'll be a failure in my sole purpose, and I may as well be gutted and killed right here on the training floor.

"Having trouble?" Ari asks calmly, pulling back another arrow- aiming carefully.

I sigh, still trying to steady my own arrow with finesse like her. "Apparently."

"You'd learn a lot faster if you went and got the instructor's help."

Yeah, I would. You'd also use the opportunity to disappear out of my sight and be ambushed by the other tributes. So I'm not going to.

"I'll be fine."

Becoming increasingly frustrated, Ari's arrow doesn't hit as closely as the others before did. It takes a few more minutes of my dismal shooting before she grips her bow and turns to me- obviously irritated.

"Let's make a wager," She sounds breathless, and I'm a little taken aback. "If you shoot better than me, I won't argue with you hanging around me like this."

I can already tell what happens if I lose.

"-And if you can't- you promise to _leave me alone_."

This isn't a wager I can really accept. I can barely hit this target, let alone outshoot someone who can with ease. But if I manage to- she can't argue against my protection, and that'd help me out a lot in the long run.

I straight up a little; glad I at least have the intimidating power of height on my side. "If I win, do you promise to do as I say?"

Ari wasn't expecting that, I'm sure. Yet she nods, obviously confident that she'll never have to do anything I say. Not that I can blame her- since I'm already regretting accepting this bet as I turn to face the target.

"Ladies first?" I suggest calmly, glancing at her through the corner of my eye.

"No, we'll shoot on three." Ari grips the bow tightly in her hand. "Ready...?"

"One..."

I pull the arrow back against the taut string. Beside me I hear Ari follow suit.

"Two..."

I close an eye, trying to envision the middle of the bullseye being punctured by my hand.

"Three-!"

My hand flies backwards as the force of the arrow whips out of my control. My direction snaps forward- searching for the arrow skidding across the ground- but when I see it sticking out of one of the four inner rings of the bullseye- a breathless gasp escapes me.

I hit it the target. Sure, it's not a bullseye- but I hit the target.

"Not bad," Ari's voice is quiet, but as I turn to face her- the smirk is undeniable. "But I'm better."

And as I turn to face her target, my stomach drops.

Dead in the centre- still quivering with adrenaline- Ari's arrow pierced the bullseye.

"Nice try Sykora," Ari tosses the bow to the floor, smiling as she whips around and strides away. "See you at dinner."

Clutching the bow, I do my best not to throw it down in anger.

Protecting her now isn't impossible.

Just much more difficult.

**

* * *

**

_Galaxy Jones; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 7._

By the time lunch rolls around, I'm starving. This morning I didn't manage to eat anything because the moment I caught sight of the cornflakes- I burst into tears because of how much it reminded me of home, eating cornflakes with my family.

-It didn't help that when I explained this, that monster of a Sector partner actually had the gall to _laugh _at me. Sure, it wasn't a huge laugh- like roaring or anything- but his chortle was loud enough for me to hear, and loud enough to upset me into blowing my nose into the tablecloth.

The Avox servants around the table don't actually serve anything, and it's all sort of a buffet sort of layout- so I just grab a plate and start picking the least fattening objects I can see, but grabbing as many that can fit on a plate.  
After a few minutes my plate is spilling over with fruit, salad and little sandwiches smaller than my palm. I sit down at the far end of the table- far away from Ferroh and any of the other tributes- and begin picking at my plate, cautiously at first- before finally calming down and digging in.

I haven't talked to any of the other tributes yet. In fact, I haven't even trained with anyone yet. I've stayed to the least popular sections- the poisonous plants, knot tying- all of which I wasn't all that good at. Camouflage was fun, and so was the obstacle course I guess- but those won't be that useful in the long run.

-the moment we were allowed to go, Ferroh went straight to the handheld weapons. I saw him, picking up and testing out all those sharp swords by wielding them about. It made me want to shiver because of how quickly he seemed to master them.  
_He _has talked to other people, though it's weird. As easily as he talks with them, he stops and then doesn't look at them twice. Right now he's sitting at the top of the table, talking with that volunteer boy from 6, Brandit. They're both smiling and laughing, so maybe volunteers get along or something.

"-is anyone sitting here?"

Using all my self control not to jump or fall out of my seat, I'm stunned when I see tall, blonde haired girl looking down at me with hopeful green eyes. Tacked to her front and the back of her shirt is a pair of bold, red '**9**'s.

"I-I guess not..." I look down at my plate. I won't be able to pretend I'm finished too quickly. "Go ahead..."

"Thanks," the girl from nine sits down, putting her plate of barely anything down beside mine. "I'm Britney Frailer. You're Galaxy, right?"

Nodding, I try to smile- but it just sort of twinges. "Yeah. Galaxy Jones."

I half expect her to hold out her hand to make this introduction more awkward- but she starts poking her fork into her salad and promptly begins eating, although she chews pretty slowly and side glances at me quite a bit.

"So... uh..." She speaks with a mouthful of food, but luckily none of it sprays anywhere. "How's training going?"

I wasn't expecting anyone to make chit-chat with me, but when it's someone who isn't terrifying like that jerk Ferroh, it slowly becomes easy.

"I'm not good with weapons," I admit sadly, picking up one of my little sandwiches. "But I can dodge really well. I guess it's because I always did well in gymnastics."

"Oh, me too." Britney laughs slightly, and tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "Are you in your school's cheerleading squad?"

I stare at her in complete surprise. "What? No."

My abrupt answer seems to make her a little worried- and she quickly begins to apologise.

"It's not an insult or anything-!" Britney starts quickly. "I mean, aside from all the piercings, you look like you could totally be in your school's cheer squad. I already know that Cotton is, so I just sort of assumed..."

-Cotton? I really need to start memorising the names of the other tributes. I go a bit red, but thankfully my skin already is red, so Britney can't tell that I'm secretly happy that she thinks I could be popular enough to be in the cheer squad, and not just the lame geology club.

"The piercings aren't the only things that give me away," I admit- grinning. "Take a look- ahh-"

I roll my tongue out, and I can't help but let the corners of my mouth turn into a smile as Britney recoils for an instant- then stiffens as she recognises the dragon pattern tattooed in white over the surface of my pink tongue. In just a few moments my tongue is safely inside my mouth and the both of us are laughing like old friends.

"I wanted one of those, they're _so _eccentric and it'd be perfect for me!" Britney claps her hands, wriggling in her seat. "-But my Mom, she was so uncool about it- she said it'd be a bad example for my little sisters-"

"So were my step-parents!" I cry suddenly, struggling not to laugh. "But like, it's so painful- as if kids would have the guts to get one, you know?"

"Yes! Exactly- I mean, parents can be so..."

And the two of us drift into silence, remembering the reality of our situation- and how our lives of complaining about our families and their judgemental values are a thing of the past, and quite possibly something that we might never be able to dislike again.

"...I had a fight with my Mom yesterday morning." Britney admits quietly, looking at the floor. "About my sisters stealing my make-up..."

The sadness in her voice sounds so much like me, it's only natural to reach out and rub her arm sympathetically. "I know how you feel; I had a fight with my little brother... I felt so awful..."

Only a few moments ago, we were so happy about having things in common with one another. About finding someone in this room of doomed tributes that we could understand.  
Now- it hurts so much being reminded that I'm not the only one suffering in this room- and knowing that I probably don't deserve to go home as much as some of these other tributes.

"...Britney...?"

She looks like she's about to cry. Wiping her nose, Britney looks at me as I do my best to put on the best smile I can muster right now.

"Let's be allies."

No words are needed. Not even a nod. Because in that moment- as I begin to cry again- I can see a tiny smile tweak the corners of Britney Frailer's face.

Choking slightly, I try not to laugh. "C-Could you get me a tissue?"

Britney giggles quietly.

"Sure."

**

* * *

**

_Montserrat Pierre de Saint-Phillipe; 18 years; the Capitol Sector 9._

It's amazing how wrong your instincts can be at first about a person. I mean, when I looked at Diego's picture in the pamphlet last night- I would've sworn he'd be one of the more ferocious tributes of the bunch. Those heavy lidded eyes, pale skin and monstrous height- he'd be able to clunk me over the head and kill me in one blow, I was sure.

-but after sitting beside him and ending up eating lunch with him by pure chance, I can safely say that out of all the other tributes in this game- Diego is quickly becoming my favourite, even though the only tributes I've talked to have been him and Britney.

"And I have two twin step sisters, Eresenda and Elisenda," I say- wiping the linguini sauce from my face. "And uh... it's complicated."

Diego smiles and shakes his head. "That's fine; you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

"Thanks," I take a swig of the orange fizz I had poured out for myself. "Uh, want to talk about your home life or should we just let the subject change?"

"You read my pamphlet, I'm sure." No longer smiling, Diego brushes his black hair out of his eyes. "Orphan, and apparently my only family died yesterday- so I guess I'm orphaned all over again."

I don't think anyone would ever know what to say to something like that.

"...I'm sorry."

"Don't be Montserrat," With a reassuring smile, Diego picks up his own drink. "You're the first person I've talked to about it."

"Yeah? How many people _have _you talked to since you got here?" I can't help but smirk around Diego. He's so cool and calm; it makes me feel like I'm back home again. "Because including you and my Sector partner, I've talked to a grand total of _two_."

Diego laughs a little under his breath. "Exactly the same here. However my Sector partner is, how to say, quite different."

"Really?" I try to remember his Sector partner. White and black hair, weird all black eyes. "...what's her name again?"

"Koriana, but she greatly dislikes being called that and prefers 'Kori', apparently." The way he says this is rather ordinary, but it sounds funny so I laugh. "What's funny?"

"Huh? Oh nothing, I guess." I grin weakly, scratching my cheek awkwardly. "Just odd that you'd say she 'great dislikes' being called by her first name."

"It's not that odd," He looks at me blankly. "You have a rather long name, I'm sure you yourself are accustomed to being nicknamed."

This guy is surprisingly over formal. I can't help but wonder why he was brought up to speak so... 'properly'. His Aunt must have been a very strange person.

"Well, everyone calls me Monty- or Phillipe," I admit quickly, looking over the room to break up our eye contact. "Why? Doesn't anyone ever call you by your last name?"

My eyes fall on a boy leaning against the dining hall's wall. He has shaggy black hair that's well kept and his eyes are trained on the floor. He looks a bit like a delinquent from this perspective. What was his name?"

"I don't have a last name."

A few seconds pass before I hear Diego's words. By the time I do- I turn away from the mystery delinquent in surprise- trying to think of what I could possibly say in response to that. I forgot that orphans aren't given last names. Why on Earth did I have to ask _that _question?  
Perhaps understanding my confusion- the guy politely shakes his head- but I don't feel any better about what's happening.

"Don't worry Montserrat, it's not a big deal," An alarm rings out, signifying the end of lunch time. "Lunch is over. I guess it is back to training then."

Out of the entire room, Diego is the first to move out of the exit. As hard as I try to stay close to the guy- he disappears into the reference section again and picks up a book and begins reading where he left off.  
Unsure of where I should go, I head over to the barrel of lances- ignoring the trainer as he offers to teach me. Instead I stare at a dummy and try to think about what just happened.

The pamphlet read "Diego D." Wouldn't that "D" stand for his last name? I grip the wooden pole, examining the sharp skewer on the end made of finely crafted steel.  
What would it be like to be an orphan? To not have a family name to call your own? I mean, I always thought my last name was pretentious and annoying- but it's better than having no name at all...

The dummy sways on its tether slightly, and when the trainer asks if I want a mobile target or not I shake my head. Preparing to throw the stick, I can't help but wonder what I'd feel like in Diego's shoes.

-He has no family to come home to. Is that why he isn't training? Has he already given up on life because there's just nothing in it for him anymore?

My first shot misses the target, and the lances clatters loudly to the floor. Instead of picking it up, the trainer hands me another one- and I narrow my eyes a little as I concentrate harder.

-Isn't that a sad way to die though? With nothing to fight for? I know that yesterday, I wouldn't have thought I had anything to fight for... but in reality I do. I have my family... Eresenda...

The second shot flies and barely rips the side of the dummy's leg, clattering to the floor a little further away from the first lance. I grab the third one on my own- and the trainer begins to back away as another tribute, the black guy from 7 stands behind me as I ready what I hope will be my final shot.

-I think I've made up my mind. I know I'm yet to talk to all the tributes here, but none of them could possibly have the same sort of feel to them as Diego did.

Exhaling- I let the lance fly from my hand- and as it soars I watch as it pierces the stomach of the dummy, latching deep inside its cotton stuffed bowels while both the trainer and the boy from 7 applaud quietly for my effort.

I've made up my mind.

I want Diego as an ally.

**

* * *

**

_Cotton Valamine Ferier; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 11._

It's hard to concentrate when Vinel is shirtless in the camouflage station just beside the poisonous flora station. I'm reluctant to eat anything because the trainer's words have just completely disappeared into the forgotten parts of my memory- all because I was too focused on his hands smoothing paint across his skin.

"Is... this one poisonous?" I ask slowly, pointing to a light blue coloured berry.

The trainer looks exasperated, but it's his job to help me. "When a berry isn't an obvious poisonous color like red or purple- squeeze it and see what color the juice is. If it's a bright color, it's most likely poisonous."

He didn't answer my question. I frown. "...well is it?"

Sighing, the trainer shakes his head- and I pop the berry in my mouth- slightly surprised by how sweet it tastes against my tongue. I only hope it doesn't leave a horrible stain on my teeth that has to be bleached off, like I heard some berries do.

...

-Last night was surprisingly fun.

I know that he's my 'competition' and all, but the way we talked up on the roof made me completely forget about our situation- even if it was just for an hour or so. Every time he smiled I just couldn't help grinning and giggling. It was like a schoolyard crush- only much more intense.

Suddenly the trainer shouts. "_That _one is-!"

"Eh?" I look down and see that I had picked up a black, pointy looking berry in my absent-mindedness. "Oh, oops..."

"Oops?" The instructor looks completely dejected. "Are you even paying attention?"

He doesn't really need me to answer that, and I'm pretty sure he wouldn't want me to. With a shrug, I pull myself up off the ground and walk past the camouflage section- taking my time in passing Vinel, who gives me an inviting smile as he continues to draw little circles on his upper arms with his index finger. It's hard to not want to stop and chat- but I did promise that tree trunk Moyna that I'd at least take training seriously, and I don't think I can if I'm around the hottest guy in the room.

-Before I take my eyes away though- Vinel cracks his shoulder muscles- turning away from me- but not before I get one good look at his muscular chest, still perfectly visible even under the layers of make-shift paint.  
I didn't realise he had such perfect abdominal muscles until just this moment... and he's got pecs... he must bench press a lot... a lot...

Wow. My whole mouth just filled with saliva.

Berries- it's got to be the berries. That's what I try to convince myself as I shut my eyes tight and try to keep from smiling too widely.

"What are you so happy about?"

I barely stop myself from colliding straight into her. Freezing mid-step and probably looking ridiculous as I do so- my gaze is caught by the unfriendly glare of the girl from Sector 2.

Natalia Marinos.

"Nothing," I say- as quickly as I can manage. "Just- enjoying training."

Her eyes are the deepest blue I've ever seen, but instead of being pretty- they're terrifying the depths that stare back at me. The gems sticking out of her cheek bones sort of give a skeletal look to her face.  
Natalia nods her head towards the camouflage section behind me, undoubtedly at Vinel.

"Are you friends with 4?" She asks, eyes not blinking.

I look over at Vinel for a moment. He's preoccupied with a new pallet of paint, so he doesn't look back. However I can feel my heart beat just a little faster watching his arms flex, and I know that after last night- if I had to say I was friends with anyone- it would definitely be with him.

-Though, I want to know- what does that mean to this girl?

"Maybe," I try to act as coolly as possible, but it's undeniable that she's taken me by surprise. "What's it to you?"

"I'm interested in forming an alliance," Natalia's words are crisp and foreign sounding, and I can't help but gawk a little. "-of the strongest males and females."

I narrow my eyes a little. "...you mean like the careers?"

With a smile that doesn't meet her eyes, she nods.

"And you want Vinel and me?"

Even though she nods, it only takes a second for me to realise the truth from the look in her eyes. Natalia really only wants Vinel- but she's willing to take me along as some sort of tag-a-long if it means securing him.

If she wants the best guy in these Games, she'll have to try harder than that to pry him out of my fingers.

Sighing, I put my hands up and shake my head. "I can't promise anything, I mean- who else do you even have in mind? Who have you asked?"

"You're the first," Natalia admits blankly. "Some are harder to isolate than others."

This makes me curious. Who exactly does Natalia have planned to join these 'Capitol Careers'? "Who?"

Turning around- and I follow suit- Natalia begins to point them out all over the room. First she points to the large guy from Sector 8 who is currently flipping through a survival guide in the ignored reference section. Then she points to the boy from 6 examining a heavy looking sword, and the black guy from 7 who's not too far from there. She pauses a little- and then points to the boys from 1, 5, 9, 10 and even 12- all scattered about the room.

"...so basically all the guys?" I ask finally, trying not to laugh. "Why not just ask all of them?"

"Because I don't want _all _of them," Natalia's tone is immediately stern. "Your Sector partner would be worthless for example. The boy from 3 is equally worthless. We won't need guys like them."

I can't argue with her about Vince, but I realise something. "What about your Sector partner? Isn't he good with acrobatics or something-?"

"No," Natalia snaps, causing me to flinch. "I'd rather die than team up with that idiot."

Well, that settles that then.

"How do you even know they're all going to join with you?" I ask, still feeling unsure about this idea. "I'm already having my doubts; you don't seem all that friendly."

Harsh, and also dangerous to admit to a girl willing to compile a career group- but this makes Natalia smile rather than look any more vicious.

"-Cotton-" When did she learn my name? "You know the best course of action. If you want to survive this thing, you need to team up with the strongest in order to win this. Just get back to me when you've made the right choice."

And without another word, Natalia Marinos turns on her heel and away- and I'm left feeling conflicted and completely unsure of what to do. And when I feel a hand on my shoulder and I turn to see Vinel looking at me with a smile that disappears when he sees the look on my face- I'm even more confused with what I should say.

Am I career material?

* * *

**Feedback would help me out a lot. ;D**

**Capitol Question #006; which tributes would you like to see 'partner up' (not romantically)?**


	32. Do You Think You'll Survive?

**A Vivid Note: **still utterly adoring this training business. Each spearhead, every blade and arrow tip signifies what's to come... the gouging, plunging, and slicing... it sends shivers of pleasure down my spine to think about it. I cannot _wait _to taste the already clotting blood of your sweet little tributes... hahaha...

Also- yes, I'm going to become _increasingly_ creepy as we get closer to the Games. I've constantly warned you, time and time again- that I draw a _sick _brandpleasure in writing/watching/reading murder. You signed yourself up for this when you answered my call to invest yourself in this story.  
And only one of you will be allowed to walk away alongside your tribute...

-but who will it be?

**Capitol Question #007; which tributes do you think will form rivalries?**

**Special Event #001; what is the best song to represent the character 'Vince Bryant Pace'?**

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Natalia Marinos; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 2._

I'm hoping that this second day of training will prove much more fruitful than the first one did. Since I had to spend most of it trying to gather up allies- none of which have actually given me a straight answer yet- I didn't get a whole lot of training done.  
Having to eat breakfast and dinner with that bastard Marshall is really taking its toll on me however. Whenever our eyes meet he grins like a maniac and makes jokes about the chariot ride. I still can't get over how he managed to play me like that.

-He'll pay for it later. Dearly.

If I have any sort of plan for the bloodbath, it'll be to secure the nearest weapon I can lay hands to and then find that little hound and put him to sleep. Marshall is my only real competition- and getting rid of him will be easy enough seeing how arrogant he is.  
He had the element of surprise on the chariot, and I underestimated him.

That _won't _be happening again.

'_Keep calm Natalia_,' I keep telling myself. '_Don't get scared. Don't lash out again. Keep your temper in check and organise yourself._'

-because really, even as I examine this barrel of assorted 'miscellaneous' weapons, I'm secretly terrified of what might happen soon. In a few days, I'm going to be in that arena _depending _on not losing my cool and attacking too quickly. Any false move and I could find myself on the wrong end on one of these whip things...

It's also why I need to gather up as many allies as possible now, for my 'mock-career' group- before it's too late...

...speaking of... I've just noticed the Sector 5 boy hovering above a nearby barrel- pulling out a pair of knuckle dusters with spikes protruding from the joints that look like they could shred the skin if you punched them into the skin and tore your fist away.

I can hardly believe that he's not floating after that Ari Saint-Claire girl like yesterday.

Now is as good a time as ever to ask him for his assistance, so I grip the whip in my hand and walk over, wondering whether or not I should butter this guy up with some flirting or just be straight to the point.

-Laco Sykora looks at me, mildly confused as I feel a half-smile, half-glowering expression fix upon my face, as the whip is threaded through my fingers anxiously.

"I'm Natalia Marinos, Sector 2." I try to show as many teeth as I smile, hoping not to come off too menacing. "I don't believe we've spoken?"

"We haven't." Laco says looking at me, still wary.

Laughing lightly, I brush some of my black hair away from my eyes. "Well, to be honest I wanted to talk to you sooner... but I didn't know if I should since you were with Ari and all..."

I was sort of hoping for an answer to this, but nothing changes in the guy- except his expression becomes a little harder. Perhaps he and that pop-star dolt Ari Saint-Claire had a fight or something. He was being quite clingy, following her around so closely.  
Don't get caught up in that now Natalia. Secure another ally, and do it now. My teeth grit together a little too hard as I try to smile naturally.

"-I won't take you for a fool and patronise you Laco. I'm talking to you because I think you'd do well."

A surprised look fills his eyes, and I give him a moment to give my words the appropriate effect. Then, without allowing him to think too deeply about it- I begin again-

"Think of it as an almost 'career' like alliance," I drop my voice to a whisper. "I'm only asking the strongest, after all."

Finally, Laco's shoulders stiffen defensively. "Strongest?"

Smiling, I nod.  
I'm feeling good about this. When this idea first came to me, I didn't know if I could pull it off. Gathering up the strongest- keeping my more formidable enemies closest- it sounded hard until I thought of my Mother grabbing desperately for my hand across the rope line, screaming my name- crying for me to come back...

"-Are you going to ask Ari?"

Unconsciously, I snort immediately without realising- and find myself staring at a suddenly bristling Laco.

"Uh- I mean-" I need to keep myself from spacing out like that. On the ball Tali', on the ball- "I don't think I will, she doesn't seem to be of the right _calibre_-"

"You weren't watching her?" Laco begins to rise up, enraged. "She was _amazing _with that bow. You'd be a _fool_ not to want her."

"I- I..." The boy looked so meek just a minute ago. Now that he's pissed, even I'm feeling a bit terrified. "I'm sorry-?"

"You just want a pack of guys around to save your own pathetic neck!" Laco snarls viciously, shoving his hand inside the metal knuckle-duster. "Do you _honestly think I'd choose you over her?_"

He advances, and I back away- the whip growing hot in my hands. People are turning to watch as Laco- eyes dilated wide and an inhuman strength born inside him- suddenly roars above my apologetic cries-

"I'll protect her from you- from everyone like you!" He looks insane. Laco curls his fist tight and looks like he's preparing to swing-

"I'll make Ari Saint-Claire win these games-!"

And without warning, he jolts forwards. Instinctively I throw my arms forward- and the whip flies back over my shoulder. Clenching my eyes tightly shut, I skid to a sudden stop and yelp I hear the leathery rope crack forwards- and an outcry of pain.

"-Tributes are _prohibited from sparring_-_!_"

Four hands haul me backwards and I thrash about in a panic as I try to register where exactly I've been injured. I can feel no immediate pain- nothing in fact- and when I open my eyes I'm stunned to see what the only blood in eye-shot is silently slipping down Laco's face.

The whip cut open his forehead. Two trainers have grabbed him from either side, and he's not moving. His eyes are open wide and his weapon is rocking silently on the floor, but it looks like he's in a state of shock- unable to recognise what just occurred...

Perhaps he doesn't deal with pain well...

-Remember that Natalia. Everything is useful now that he's your enemy. No detail too small not to make note of... now that he's made a distinction that he's not on your side-

"Laco-!"

And in a flurry, I'm pulled back as a girl- blonde haired and pale skinned- collapses against Laco- holding onto his shoulders and shaking him gently, frantic as her fingers fly to his cut- trembling with alarm.

...Ari... Saint-Claire...

"Laco! Laco are you okay? What the hell happened here-?"

Neither trainer speaks, but I can hear a gargling sort of voice breathlessly escape the bleeding boy-

"...Ari... I..."

Shaking her head, the idol puts a hand to his face. "Oh shut up if you're fine. Don't hurt yourself. I'll deal with you later... for... for making me worry..."

She turns away from him, and I'm surprised to see those usually sparkling eyes glaring at me furiously. She's younger than me, and though I feel the instinct to step back from the angry predator- I stand my ground, tightening my fists as Ari tries to contain her own anger.

"...don't even think... of recruiting him..."

They're taking him away to treat the wound. Both of the trainers restraining me let go, but not before blankly restating the guidelines of not attacking a fellow tribute.  
But my attention is elsewhere. Instead I stare after Ari and Laco, the latter being supported by the smaller girl- muttering words of apology as she continuously shakes her head.

...and my gaze drops to the floor...

-and that's when I notice it.

"...wouldn't... dream of it..."

A dove.

A small, white dove... patterned on her ankle...

-My eyes narrow, and I can feel my heart beat a little faster as I recognise the symbol and the events of just before take a backseat to my new discovery. After all, anyone could recognise symbol in my hometown.

Dear me.

I never would've guessed. Never would've _dreamed _that this would happen.

Ari Saint-Claire... a revolutionary?

**

* * *

**

_Vinel Greggorus; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 4._

"We don't _have _to join the careers Cotton," I sigh- picking up an axe and weighing it in my hand. "I never said we did."

"-I know it's a good opportunity," Cotton sighs- struggling to uphold an axe herself. "But I don't trust Natalia. She seemed like she just wanted you..."

-Somehow, without my realising- the Sector 11 girl Cotton and I seem to have begun sort of-dating since we met on the rooftop.  
I can tell because of how I'm treating her; gently, but not so much that she's a complete child. There's not much difference between her and the girls back home that I would string along- just that life is coming to a climax, and she's the only one who can experience it alongside me.

-That and I just sort of winged it on the roof. I guess I could say with pride "I still got it" if I wanted to get my head punched off. Cotton's a regular looking girl my Capitol standards- hot, alterations- but she's got attitude, and I'm not going to mess with that.

"Then why don't we just join to keep an eye on her?" I sigh, keeping a steady eye on the dejected looking girl. "Besides, if she gets too slippery we'll just... I don't know, cut off her head."

The appalled look that statement gets me is hysterical. "-what? Do you actually _mean _that?"

"I don't know, we _are _in the Hunger Games Cotton, killing is sort of the point," Never thought I'd say that so casually. Cotton probably didn't either, because she looks visibly upset. "-oh lighten up, we only have four more days until the arena..."

"I know..."

Axes are pretty heavy. To fight with one of these in the arena, I'd need a lot of stamina- and I'd probably have to be eating a lot to keep up this sort of strength. I switch hands, but it doesn't lessen the burden any.  
After years of lifting weights, I know what I can handle and for how long. I'm going to need something lighter than this. Something swifter.

"Vinel, are you scared?"

Her question catches me off guard, and I almost drop the axe in surprise. Luckily my purchase on the handle is strong- and all I do is stumble slightly in turning, so all I do is look a little stupid rather than lose a toe to the blade.

It's hard to be honest with her and still sound masculine. "I don't know, I mean- sure- but not as much as I thought I'd be..."

"I guess you're right, I mean- I thought I'd be more scared..." A soft smile touches her face. "Then again, I did say I'd win this thing, so confidence is one of my strengths."

"You think so?" I grin, putting the axe back in the barrel. "Anything else you got Ferier?"

Her cheeks grow a deep shade of pink.

"L-Lots of things!" Stamping her foot, she looks down at the barrel and then back at me. "The real question is- what have _you _got _Pinkie_."

She's been calling me that since we met on the rooftop, on and off again. I was sort of hoping she'd get sick of it, because having pink skin is really starting to tick me off.

"Babe, I'm loaded with skills," For emphasis, I pretend to run my fingers through my hair- grinning as she playfully wrinkles her nose in disgust. "I'm the strongest, sexiest man in the world."

Cotton snorts with laughter. "Ha! You could barely hold up that axe just before- as _if _you're the strongest."

"So you don't deny that I'm the sexiest?"

Her face blooms red again.

"Sh-Shut up!" I can barely contain the urge to laugh pointedly at the girl. "Vinel that's not funny you jerk! You're not sexy at all-!"

"Shhh, you'll upset him."

Our fun and games ends the second we see Natalia. Her arms are folded, and there's that trademark smirk on her face I've slowly grown accustomed to.  
And by 'accustomed', that by no means says I like it. It's sort of murderous in a sultry 'come-hither' way.

"What do you want?" Cotton asks sourly, clearly not pleased of having our playful banter interrupted.

"I wanted to know if you've considered my offer," Natalia asks, unfolding her arms and letting her smile become softer. "To be allies?"

She didn't need to reiterate. It was plainly obvious what 'offer' she was referring to.

"Still thinking about it." Cotton answers blankly, directing her attention to the axes.

Natalia turns to me and raises her brow, silently asking the same question now that Cotton is choosing to ignore her. And though I'm getting intense vibes to do the same from the silent girl beside me, I actually begin to think about it.

"I have a few questions about it," I lean my head back, looking down at Natalia from the bottom of my eyes. "For example, I heard you're not recruiting any of the other chicks. Reason?"

Cotton perks up at this, but it doesn't faze me or Natalia, who answers- "Simply put, they're all weak and would make terrible editions."

"What about the boy from 1? He's going to be pretty terrible with those wings slowing him down," I smirk, folding my arms. "You wanted him though. Why not trade in angel-boy for an able-bodied girl?"

My words seem to have struck a nerve with the girl from 2. "Any suggestions?"

"Minerva for one," I say before I can stop myself- instantly disliking the reaction Cotton gives me. "She's proved pretty good with the throwing knives."

"Duly noted." Natalia mutters.

I'll have to suggest more if I don't want Cotton accusing me of having a thing for Minerva. "Plus that girl from 9 is pretty nimble and all that, she was doing good at the evasion station. And Saint-Claire-"

"No." I'm surprised by how forceful Natalia suddenly becomes. "I am _not _having Ari Saint-Claire. She'd the most useless weight of all."

Though I want to put forward that I haven't seen Natalia wield anything- and from what I saw from Ari- not only did she swim pretty quick in the lap pools, she also used that bow and arrow like a professional- but the way Natalia is bristling up at the shoulders tells me that perhaps there's another reason why she doesn't want Ari around.

"Alright, but you got to consider at least the first two." I raise my palms up and shake my head. "Or else you're just gonna have a bunch of guys and Cotton, and that could cause problems later on."

This time it's Cotton who eyes me with irritation. "What problems?"

"Huh? You didn't think about it?" Thank God I'm suave, or I'd never make it out of this alive. "Well after a few days alone in the wild, they're going to start hitting on you, and I'd personally rather they didn't."

Stupid excuse or not, it did the trick. Cotton melts away into her little happy world and resumes fishing about for an axe to distract herself with- while Natalia looks at me with narrowed eyes that say that she didn't buy a word of what I just said.

"I'll think about it," She says in a way that plainly tells me that she won't. "So, will you join or won't you?"

I pause for a brief moment, and look over at Cotton. Her eyes are fixed on me still, and- though I can see the worry building up behind her eyes- she gives a smile of surrender.

Smirking, I turn to Natalia. "Sure. We're in."

But only to keep an eye on you, you troublesome girl.

**

* * *

**

_Faye-Anna Cholores; 14 years; the Capitol Sector 6._

Today's lunchtime is different from yesterday. For one, Sapphire isn't talking, Liotta seems to finally have stopped crying for the most part- and Vince won't stop staring over at the other tributes.

There's a reason the four of us have banded together like this.

It's because we're the underdogs.

-and we are all _painfully _aware of that fact.

Out of the four of us, Liotta is definitely dealing with it the worst. She always looks as if she's about to burst into tears, and it's obvious she feels terrible for what happened to her Sector partner Jason. I constantly try to reassure her, but nothing can be said to cheer her up apparently.

-Sapphire is cool and calm for the most part, but she's not getting on well with the other tributes. On the first day, I saw her snickering at various tributes trying to get the hang of weapons and different skills- and the looks she got in return as she turned tail and ran weren't all friendly.  
I was horrified when I saw her giggle at Brandit when he dropped the giant hammer thing. I pulled her away and told her the situation- how he's a volunteer- and after that she sort of realised how she was so in over her head.

Vince however is... different. He says that he's scared if anyone asks, but it doesn't meet his eyes. He keeps shifting about uncomfortably when Liotta speaks- and he never stops eyeing the competition.  
Even now, he's staring at the group of 'careers' that seems to be forming. I was _praying _that something like this wouldn't happen- but by the hand of the Sector 2 girl, apparently it is.

"I can't believe this is happening," Sapphire looks at me, eyes wide and disbelieving. "We're all Capitol kids. I thought there'd be _no _damn careers-"

Sighing, I rest my elbow on the table and my cheek against my palm. "Apparently it is."

The Sector 2 girl has a bit of a crowd around her, and they all look fairly cheerful. The girl from 11 is there, Cotton, with her white blonde and rainbow hair all askew from training. Also the pink skinned boy from 4, who I think is into Cotton because he keeps slipping an arm around her waist. Then there's Sapphire's Sector partner, the boy from 10- and-

I inhale suddenly and choke on the air, alarming Sapphire beside me.

"...oh no."

Sapphire looks confused. "What? What is it?"

But I can't speak. I had the worst feeling that this would happen- but now that it is, I don't want to believe it.

Brandit stands beside the girl from 2, laughing at something that's been said- and being clapped on the shoulder by the girl as she smiles at him smarmily. He looks at her with a grin I haven't seen since I've first laid eyes on him- and, in an act that tells me the worst has happened- he nods.

And the girl claps her hands together excitedly.

...he's in with the careers.

"We're all dead," I whisper plainly, finding difficulty breathing again. "Brandit _volunteered_, and now he's joining up with the strongest competitors. We won't last two minutes in that arena now."

Vince catches my eye for a minute and smiles feebly. "Did you really think we stood a chance before?"

Something in the way Vince says this unsettles me, but I'm quick to cast it aside; remembering that Vince is in a worse position than me- being twelve. At least at fourteen there are some sponsors who believe I might have a chance.

No one believes he'll do well.

-Still, the way he just said that sounded a bit... well, teasing.

"I just want this to be over," Liotta mumbles, her hands gripping her knees. "The fear is the worst. The fear from having to wait..."

I think that everyone is expecting her to cry, but Liotta instead grips the bend of her wings and trembles. Vince reaches over and awkwardly pats her shoulder- while Sapphire resumes staring at her empty plate on the table.

Liotta is exactly right.

...I'd give anything not to feel this... I'm sure everyone else is feeling it too, but not like I am. Not as much as we, the underdogs are feeling it... When I look around this room- I can pick out the other competitors and I _know _that they aren't convinced they'll be dead in a few days. There's that sliver of hope that I so desperately wish I had.

There have been books I've read that talked about this sort of thing. Crime books, murder mysteries- where the main character is trapped alone on an island or a train and doesn't know who the murderer is- or how they can stay away from them- or who will be next.

They're forced to wait. And then they're forced to die.

Just like me.

...In... in this situation I always thought I could pick up on clues... who the killer would be... but I can't, not that I'm here. Reading murder mysteries was easy because most of the time- it's a rare occasion when it isn't- by the end of the book the murderer is dead and you can rest in peace.

But it's all different here. _Everyone _could be a murderer. That's what the Gamemakers want after all- isn't it; for us all to end up to be violent lunatics and to slaughter each other mercilessly for the audience?

...I want... I want to find the one person... if there _is _such a person... who isn't going to end up that way... who won't end up a vicious monster.

Sitting here at the table, my hands clutching my brittle hair so hard it breaks off between my fingers... I'm desperate... who amongst us won't kill? Is there anyone here I can trust to stand by me... to protect me...?

...there was a time... where I thought it was Brandit...

...but I don't think that anymore.

-Anyone who volunteers is sure to be evil.

Shutting my eyes, I swallow the tears that run down the back of my throat, wiping my face desperately before any of the others notice that I'm crying.

Please... keep me away from the monsters...

**

* * *

**

_Diego "D"; 18 years; the Capitol Sector 8._

I've already finished six survival books, and I start the seventh the moment I step out of the lunchroom dining hall. It's become a habit to talk to Montserrat from Sector 9 each day; however I have a strange feeling I might be upsetting him with my stand-offish nature. Especially today, when he was asking my opinion on whether he should say yes to this girl's alliance offer to him- and I simply shrugged.

Perhaps he won't want to talk to me after that. I almost feel a little sad knowing that he won't. Montserrat was good company.

No one has really bothered me, which is quite a relief since I was sure there would be one or two who would misjudge me on sight. Although everyone seems quite busy with their own thing- wandering from station to station and trying to accumulate as many skills as possible.

-there are a few exceptions of course. The boy from 5, after being patched up from an earlier encounter with another tribute, is being dragged about by his Sector partner, who keeps whispering in his ear and smiling. I can only guess that they're in an alliance together.  
Similar, but not exactly the same- the pair from Sector 3 have kept their distance from everyone else for the most part. They seem quite amiable with one another though, helping each other learn the different techniques. The girl seems to have more promise than the lad though.

Also, the boy from 7 seems to be causing some trouble with the sudden surge of alliances. I kept an eye on him when he picked up a spear and started weighing it in his hand before lunch. I remembered his name as Ferroh Axum- and it's hard to forget him, seeing as he's the only black person in the room.  
But he was approached by the girl from Sector 2, and she was visibly surprised when he shook his head in answer to her alliance proposition. Though she seemed amiable enough walking away- I could see her fist grinding up in frustration.

That's when I was certain that the best course of action I have is to stay away from that girl and her band of followers. They'll just be trouble, since they're bent on 'playing' the Game.

"Diego- hey-!"

Though his hand clapping on my shoulder doesn't move me- I am surprised to see Montserrat looking so cheerfully up at me.

"Hello Montserrat," I close my book, but I keep my thumbnail inside the page. "What is it?"

Montserrat laughs slightly. "Not much, it's just uh- this girl asked me if I wanted to be in an alliance and, uh-"

Before he can continue, a rather darker voice sounds from behind him, gripping him firmly around his upper arm and sidling him out of the way-

"I can take it from here."

When my eyes meet with Natalia's, I can all but hope that she can guess what my answer is going to be to this inevitable question of allegiances.

Her eyes lock on mine, but despite the serious look I give her, she chooses to ignore it. "Monty here said that he'd only be willing to join my alliance if _you _were invited as well. I've been meaning to ask you since yesterday- but no opportunity arose until now, so-"

She speaks quite formally, perhaps she has heard how I speak- but it sounds foreign from her tongue; obviously forced in order to mimic some kind of maturity, or importance.

I don't want to lead her on, so I cut her off. "I am not interested."

Startled, Natalia tilts her head questioningly. "Do you have a better offer?"

"No," I say flatly, opening my book again. "I am simply not interested. Now if you excuse me-"

Silence follows as I try to continue reading my book, but I'm distracted when Montserrat shrugs and sighs with a smile.

"Well, there you go. I'm spoken for." He sounds surprisingly cheerful. "Sorry."

His words baffle me. I let the book drop a little, and I feel my eyebrows rise. "What did you say Montserrat? Spoken for?"

The young man looks at me as if my question were a stupid one.

"I said I was 'spoken for', which means that in terms of alliances- I've made up my mind," The smile he gives me is one I've never seen before. "Isn't it obvious?"

And the words that come next cause me to lose grip of the book's spine.

"You're my friend, and I'm sticking with you."

...he didn't say allies.

'_Friend'_.

Surprise in an odd sensation. There is a numb tingling in the back of my head- and my hands begin to twinge rapidly. Also I only become aware of Natalia's growing hostility when she suddenly throws her hands up in the air and spouts-

"Fine! If you want to make your own alliance, go ahead- but don't expect to come crawling to me when you're dying in that arena."

And she turns away and leaves in a fury. The odd feeling in my head stops me from feeling the worry that surely would have come with setting off another competitor. Montserrat and I watch after Natalia for a moment, before turning again to one another, unsure of what to say next.

Montserrat makes the first move, closing his eyes and smiling weakly. "Uh, I'm guessing you... you didn't want to be... friends?"

"Er, no- not exactly..." I'm still completely unsure of what to say. This guy I have barely known for a day wants to throw his cards in with me. "Just... why? Why would you want to be allies with me- of all people?"

It's a potentially dangerous question to my ego- but the smile he forms predicts that nothing could be said now to tarnish this pure moment.

"I never said 'ally' man, I said 'friend'. That's more than an ally." Montserrat clocks my look and begins to grin. "...ah... you've never had a friend before, have you Diego?"

-There's nothing I can do but gawk, as unlike me as it is, which causes Montserrat to burst out into hysteric laughter while I open and close my mouth wordlessly.

Wiping tears from his eyes, Montserrat sticks his hand forward. "Wherever you go Diego, that's where I'm going, because we're friends. Yeah?"

...friend... huh?

...Aunt Romania would howl with laughter if she was here with us right now... she'd probably call me an idiot. But as cynical and detached as I am, I have a solid feeling in my gut that I've never had before about a person- not even my Aunt.

And I don't think I can push that aside.

So I put my hand forward, clasping his as we shake on it.

Friends.

**

* * *

**

_Evon Sanhorn; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 10._

Two days. Two _whole days _of training, and I don't think I've learned a bloody thing.

-Every station I've tried to attend has left me feeling completely pathetic. Not only can I not handle _any _weapons- including the darts the projectile trainer fashioned to be shot with a _pea-shooter_- none of the information is sticking in my head.

_None of it_.

The reason for that is probably because I'm too busy remembering the faces and names of all the other tributes who are scaring the hell out of me. I had hoped when I was in the car with Jasse that the competition wouldn't be so hard. I mean, it's _Capitol _kids- no one here trains to kill others like those kids in the Districts are rumoured to do.

-But there's so many that actually look like they seriously might!

First off, there's that boy from 2. Just earlier I tried evasion techniques with him at the station- and it was terrifying just to be near him. He ran up to the wall- ran _up _the wall- and then back flipped onto his feet without breaking a sweat. _Just to show off _to these two other guys nearby- who were both huge themselves. Diego and Monster... something, from 8 and 9, and apparently all three of them were pretty chummy!

I mean, I have no hope in an arena with these creatures- and if they pair up I've got no hope- not with hands in this condition!

The pain isn't as bad as yesterday. I still don't dare look under the bandages, as much as our stupid escort that jerk of a mentor- Dalton- keep asking me to. Both of them know what those- those _stylists _did to me, but neither of them actually saw what my hands look like.

I couldn't sleep. Even now, while I'm trying to listen on how to make a rope strong enough to haul stone out of vines, what I saw is burned into the very forefront of my mind- bleeding and twitching like there were no bandages at all.

Splintering bones, and blue veins pulsating right on the surface of the skin. The skin was grafting off in great big white clumps- with black charred pieces flecked across the back of my hand while my palm quivers with pain...  
It's a living nightmare. Every time I recall it, the imagery gets worse and worse. I can picture great clots of blood splattering across the floor- my fingers just _falling _out of their sockets, the skin melting and tearing away...

"Evon-?"

"AH-?"

His voice caught me off guard. Jasse looks suddenly apologetic as I steady myself after stumbling so far away from him- putting my beaten hands up in front of me as a weak form of defence.

"...uh, sorry to scare you..." And he looks it to. Then again, everyone seems to look sorry for me these days- and I can't blame them. "But Dalton wants you back up on our floor... something about your hands..."

My body jerks awake at the key word. 'Hands'. Our escort Rimi had lamented over them the past two nights- saying that she'd try to have something done about them as soon as possible. Being so pessimistic- I thought she was just saying that to make me feel better.

But... what if my hands could be fixed-?

I don't wait for Jasse to say anything more. I leave him behind, rushing from the training centre as fast as my feet can take me. I pass by several stations and attract the gaze of several competitors- each of whom I see in an entirely new light as I consider facing them on a level of even appendages.

The pair from 3 wouldn't be that hard to get rid of, especially the girl... and the girl from 6- she looks frail as it is. Heck, even the girl from 8 looks like she might be taken down with a quick knock to the head-!

My mood only gets better when I run into Dalton, our mentor from District 10- a 20 something year old man of few expressions and even fewer words. He silently leads me into the elevator- and the two of us ride up to our floor in silence.  
In my mind however, a million thoughts are all going through at once. For one, I'm finally thankful to be born in the Capitol- with such high grade medical expertise and medicine. Fixing burnt hands would be a snap for professionals- wouldn't they?

The soft ding that announces our arrival is the sweetest sound I've heard since coming here. I practically bound from the elevator to the dining room- and when I see Rimi sitting side on to another woman who has her back to me, I don't hesitate in approaching them with the best smile I can muster.

"Hi-" I'm breathless, but the happiness is genuine. "Jasse said that you wanted to see me?"

Rimi looks up at me, her face strangely glassy and unsmiling. I hear the scraping sound of the other woman's chair moving, and I turn to look her in the face as I hear a bemused humming noise from the back of her throat.

My first thoughts are that she's barely older than me. In fact, if I didn't know better- I'd have thought she was another tribute. Her hair is a dark coloured blue, her choppy block fringe settling well over her eyes- completely obscuring one of them even. Her skin is pale, and her spindly fingers clasp around a mug of tea that smells strongly of lemon.

"Miss Sanhorn, we were just talking about the situation with your hands," The woman- or _girl _would be more appropriate- smiles a thin, curled smile up at me. "Perhaps you would like to sit and chat with us?"

It's not really a question. An Avox servant steps forward and pulls out a seat on the left side of Rimi, giving me little choice in the matter.

"Uh... sure..."

As I sit down, the girl links her fingers together and rests her chin upon her overlapped fingers. "First of all, my name is Iilvsea Crane, and I am the Head Gamemaker of this Quell."

This information hits me like a blow to the chest. _This girl_? _Head Gamemaker_?

-and then her last name rings in my head, and I suddenly feel a wave of panic.

Crane.

Seneca Crane.

This girl is related to... to _Sniper _Seneca Crane?

"Now I've discussed it with the board of directors- and I'm very sorry to inform you Miss Sanhorn," Her smile creeps into the middle of her cheeks. "-but we will be unable to offer you any medical assistance regarding your hands. There is nothing we can do. I'm deeply sorry."

I can't speak; especially when that inhuman smile is just whispering 'No I'm_ not_.' to me.

...they... they won't... help me...?

"...why...?" Tears are beginning to form, and I swallow as I try not to choke out my words. "-why can't you do something-?"

"Because you are no longer of human status."

Blunt and unfeeling- Iilvsea Crane's words hit me with full force.

"...I... I'm not-?"

"Once a Capitol child has become a tribute, they are no longer of human status- much like if a Capitol citizen becomes an Avox," Iilvsea delicately picks up her tea by the handle and takes a refined sip. "They lose all human rights, even the basic rights."

I suddenly notice how terrifying her eyes are- suddenly huge, wide and yellow. Also her lips are pulled so taut across her face that I can see each and every single tooth gleaming monstrously at me inside her jaws.

"There is _nothing _we can do to help you."

Iilvsea drains the cup and stands to her feet, waiting for the Avox to pull the chair out from under her. Once it is done, she steps away, watches the servant push the chair back in- and then looks at me with a look that says 'for example?'

"Thank you for your time Miss Crane," Rimi murmurs, bowing her head. "M-My condolences to your grandfather..."

"No need for that," Iilvsea curtsies and continues to smile eerily. "He was old."

With that, the Head Gamemaker leaves- taking with her a pair of guards I hadn't noticed in my euphoria- and whatever remained of my hopes in mankind, leaving me with just the image of her poisonous smile and the words that have certified my death.

...I'm not... human...?

**

* * *

**

_Julian Healthcliffe Farraday; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 12._

Do I want to join the 'Capitol Careers'?

That's what I heard Cotton, the girl from Sector 11 calling it when she and that Natalia girl from 2 asked me after lunch. Though I made chit-chat with them and toyed with the idea- I sort of pushed it aside as soon as I stepped out of that lunchroom. After all, training was far more important- and Natalia was quickly distracted by this kid from 6, and I didn't enjoy being background noise.

-But now training is almost over, and I'm sort of faced with important decisions I was putting off until now. What am I going to do for my training session? Should I ally up with someone else? And what about my interview angle?

So far no one has approached me asking me about my interview angle or any of that jazz. A stylist measured me yesterday for a suit jacket- but that's it. I'm sort of being led to believe that this is all up to me.

Bothersome, especially since I don't like doing much when my life _doesn't _depend on it. Honestly it's a relief just to lie back down in my room- after all the training is over and done with- and do a good deal of _not _thinking.

Right now I'd like to see that Avox girl from last night- but she wasn't there this morning. But it's funny, because I remember seeing her before then at breakfast and that. Perhaps they change the Avoxes around every other day- since there aren't many of them anymore, what with the lack of revolutions and rebellions.

-Makes me wonder... I wonder what happened to all the revolutionaries. There seemed to be loads of them like fifty years ago- but then they all just sort of vanished after the Capitol hunted them down. It was in History- but I didn't pay attention. Flunked it.

...I do remember some of the interesting stuff though, since I'm a guy and all. There are some things I enjoy other than myself and getting stupid alterations I need to pluck out every two days... damn feathers...

So like fifty or so years ago- there was a pair of tributes from 12 who were in love or something. Not a big deal, since it happens a lot now- though it's usually covered up because they're boring for the audience or there's something gross- like an 18 year old crushing on a 12 year old.

_Anyway_- the two tributes- they lasted to the end, and there had been some mix-up saying that two could win that year, but when they took it back- the girl said she'd commit suicide, and so would the guy or something. They took out these... suicide pills I guess, and raised them up to their mouths...

This is the part I remember- because it's played all the time on highlight reels- especially on television and CapitolNet.

-in normal speed, it just looks like the girl fell down. _Katniss, _that was her name, she falls and then the guy drops his pill and starts shaking her- screaming her name. 'Katniss! Katniss!' – and then they play up the volume heaps at that point.  
Sometimes though, they play it in slow motion- and you can see that bullet just zip through the air and through her skull- digging itself deep into her head as that little spurt of blood flies through the air.

_That _was when rebellions tried to start up, but it failed, obviously.

The guy who did it turned out to be this huge hero, because Katniss was apparently some piece in the potential rebellion that could've killed millions. The guy won- but he was shunned pretty badly and I can't remember what happened to him.

-And the guy who shot her was called 'the sniper'... 'Sniper' Seneca Crane.

...I guess it's because of him there aren't any more Avoxes around.

Ugh, thinking about all this is pissing me off and making my head hurt. Wasting time isn't enjoyable when you can't drink or chat with girls.

I hit up the machine in the wall that allows me to order in food- and soon enough I have a carton of six bottles, and as I hear that satisfying 'fssh' noise when I open the first one, I decide that I ought to have a bath after all the sweating today while I enjoy my beer.  
Might as well. I can mull over this idea of being with a pack of killers.

Wonder what the Avox woman would think about that... perhaps I'll ask her if I ever see her again.

Turning on the tap, I burn my hand trying to figure out which is hot and which is cold. I give up trying to get the right temperature and just turn on the cold tap full crank- waiting by the sink and baring my teeth- wondering whether or not to brush them before or after my bath.

...and that's when I notice it.

Illegible, smudged letters- written in the condensation of last night- are still rubbed across the surface in the bright light of the bathroom. I stare blankly for a minute, before squinting and leaning back and forth- trying to read what is written there.

"...sec... see you..." I grip the edge of the cabinet- unable to make out the next few words. "What...? See you... see you in..."

By the time I can read the final words, the bath is full to overflowing. A few minutes more and it begins to slush out onto the tiles- completely forgotten by me.

...I don't... I don't understand...

"...why did you write this...?"

The mirror read-

'See you in Heaven.'

...the Avox girl... she wrote this for me... but why would she write this...? She wouldn't write this unless both she and I were...

-Then it hits me.

"...a...ah..."

Why she's not here.

The water begins to lap against my bare feet, and the beer falls over into the sink- gurgling all the way down the drain as I stare at the mirror in shock.

...I should've known that Avoxes weren't meant to fraternise with the tributes... let alone come into their rooms late at night...

"...ah..."

...she's dead.

I clamp my hands to my mouth as I will myself not to be sick.

...just like I'll be.

**

* * *

**

**Any feedback is appreciated. :D**

**Capitol Question #007; which tributes do you think will form an 'important' rivalry?**

**Special Event #001; what is the best song to represent the character 'Vince Bryant Pace'?**

**(Remember, Special Events are worth 10 points, and I will choose the most appropriate answer myself from those given. Only one person will win. If only one person answers, they win by default.)**


	33. Show Them Your Skills

**A Vivid Note: **Time for the training sessions! You won't get to see everyone's (_that'd be impractical_, _and dull_), but what you don't see- you will hear or, pretty much be able to guess. I'll be honest; I planned quite a few spectacular ones, most of which... you don't see. Next chapter will be the scores. Get excited! We're _ever so close_-!  
This chapter was very hard for me to write. I think I'm getting antsy for the arena.

There is a song in this chapter, courtesy of Ari, which I openly will admit now is my own paraphrased English rendition of 'Entreat', the character song of Ange Ushiromiya. YouTube it up. It's a beautiful song, but equally heartbreaking... which is why I used it.

The winner of the first '**Special Event**' is announced at the bottom of this chapter. Thank you to those who attempted the question! The next question will be more of a _puzzle_.

**Capitol Question #008; which tribute do you think will kill the most?**

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Liotta McKensie; 12 years; the Capitol Sector 1._

We are all in this room, all twenty-four of us, in the room we ate lunch in for the past two days- waiting for our time to come around and for our names to be called out. For our training session to begin. Although I _know _that I'm the very first- there's still that very definite sense of panic hanging over my head- as if something is going to loom out of that training centre and swallow me alive.

"You'll be okay," Vince mumbles from beside me. "At least you get to go first and get it over and done with."

That's true and all, but I'd still prefer to have at least a few people before me to take the edge of this curdling fear.

"What can I even do?" I whisper to him, raising my eyebrows. "I tried everything in there; I couldn't do any of it that well."

"...I don't know then Lili, just do your best."

Though I could ask what exactly my 'best' is, I can't help but feel warm inside at being called 'Lili'. Vince randomly began calling me when training started, as soon as I told him my name. His eyes just sort of lit up and he spoke that name without me even telling him that 'Lili' was exactly what my brother used to call me.

Somehow... being called 'Lili' makes me feel safe... and not so scared.

"Do you know what you'll do?" I ask, a little conscious now of my shoulder pressing against his.

"No... I guess I could sit there and cry," Vince chuckles slightly. "No... I don't know what I'll do yet."

He's so like me. Though he's young, Vince isn't at all stupid or immature. Surprisingly, he's also taking the Games rather well, aside from his constant remarks of being killed. This separates him from Sapphire and Faye-Anne, both of which aren't dealing with it that well.

I open my mouth to ask him for suggestions- but over the invisible speakers, a booming male voice calls 'Sector 1, Liotta McKensie." and all I can do is look at him sadly

Vince smiles a weak smile. "You'll do fine."

There's no time to respond, because with all the other tributes' eyes on me, I quickly hurry from that dining room and into the training centre, praying that the next ten minutes will go quickly and smoothly- and that this pressure of being the first in is going to disappear quickly.

When I open the doors- there's a fresh smell of sterilising pine that overwhelms me and tells me that the entire training room has been organised just for these training sessions. Also, set up along the only spare wall is a long, neatly set buffet table- surrounded by the Gamemakers. I had seen them yesterday when I was trying to learn how to climb- but even then I couldn't meet their eyes... just like now...

-I just need to get to one of the stations and start my session. I know that I didn't pick up on any of the skills as quickly as I would've liked- mostly due to the anxiety I'm still trying to get rid of- but I feel more confident about throwing knives then I do about any other station here.

Ducking quickly away from the Gamemakers' table, I hastily pick up the first bundle of knives I can reach and immediately begin to throw. Usually, a proper knife-thrower would clip the knives to the inside of their coat, or their belt- but I'm in such a rush, I'm just throwing them out of a bundle in my left hand, so it's no real surprise that the first two ricochet off the target and skids noisily across the floor.

I need to calm down... breathe in Liotta... now breathe out... and try again...

The blade I turn over in my hand is finely crafted, almost for artistic sake rather than practical use. Though I try to focus on thoughts about design, all I can really think about are the holes being burned into me by those Gamemakers' eyes.  
...why is this... so hard for me? Sweat begins to dot along my brow, and I timidly brush a lock of my curled hair behind my ear as I squint at the target- imagining my next throw piercing its centre-

"-Come on angel face-!"

My arm faults and the blade clatters to the ground while laughter echoes all around me. Panicked, I kneel down and pick up the dagger with trembling fingers, breathing hard as I hear the Gamemakers snicker nastily amongst themselves.  
Calm down... breathe slower Liotta... it's okay... i-it's okay...

_They're laughing at me_.

The next blade quivers in my fingers, and in my desperation I throw my arm back too far, and the blade hits hard against the wall beneath the target.

A booming voice, the same from before, roars with laughter. "Oh we're onto a _winner_!"

All the blood drains from my face as my final dagger grows hot in my hand.

_They're laughing because they know I'm going to die._

I painfully swallow as my suddenly dry throat threatens to give me away with a sob.

...calm... I need to calm... down...

"Come on~!" The man jeers from behind. "Show us what you're made of McKensie!"

..!

"_Y-You're a McKensie, so y-you're gonna kick..._"

Breathing slowly, I remember my brother Hughie, and I remember what I'm throwing for. Slowly reaching for the next bundle of knives, I no longer feel the need to 'envision' hitting the target.

...this time... this time I will hit it...

The man is shouting again, and Gamemakers are laughing alongside him- but I can't hear him anymore. None of them are important in this moment; in the here and now. That's what Hughie would be telling me. I can't hear anything in this room anymore as I take one, smooth breath inwards- and one small, steady step backwards...

"_-you're gonna kick Hunger Games ass!_"

-and I throw.

_This will make them stop laughing at me._

**

* * *

**

_Holland Wickbird; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 3._

"_Don't worry Holly,_" Francesca had said before she disappeared into that room. "_You're going to do fine. Just climb really high up. That's what you're good at. Show them that_."

-That was fifteen minutes ago. They read 'District 3, Francesca von Bardot'- and off she went, leaving me behind to panic about what it is that she's planning on showing them in comparison to me and with one of those kisses on the cheek she seems so fond of.  
I know that she'll do great. Chess always seems to have such an optimistic view about everything- and as contagious as it was in the training room- now that I'm alone it's like all optimism has been cured from me.

Chess promised that no matter what happens, it'll be us in that arena. I believe her fully, not really knowing why, but I can't help but worry about her. It's like she's sacrificing her chances just to make sure that I have a slim chance too.

Over just a few short days, she has become the greatest friend I've ever had.

Biting my lip, I try to secretly check and see if anyone else is feeling as nervous as I am. I can see the two girls from 7 and 9 chattering nervously amongst themselves, and the three youngest tributes are huddled in the corner of the room, not speaking at all.  
They look more nervous than I do, at least visibly. I'm still breathing fine, but that nasty habit of chewing off my bottom lip is starting to get painful.

What is Chess doing in there? She had done pretty well in most of the stations, aside from the heavier weapons and tree climbing. Her only real weakness seems to be her cheerful attitude, but I can tell that she's smart enough to know what's going on. Chess isn't blindly stupid or anything.

"Sector 3, Holland Wickbird."

In shock of hearing my name- I bite so hard that I feel my teeth dig a little too deep into the flesh of my lip. _Ow_!  
Doing my best to ignore the pain, I shakily stand to my feet- steady myself- and walk as normally as I can manage towards the training room- very aware of the eyes that follow me until I disappear through the doors.

The first thing I notice once I'm inside the training centre is the table of Gamemakers. None of them have taken notice of me yet. There are only seven, but they look like something out of a television show because they're all so funny looking- like the stereotypical team of misfits.  
There's a huge whale of a man at one end of the table, shovelling food into his mouth with his hands, standing beside a young girl with blue hair- who is also donning the Head Gamemaker robes. Closest to me is another woman, and she's strikingly beautiful with flowing blonde hair, with her sleeve covered hand clasped around a champagne glass. When she takes a sip, her sleeves adorned with bells jangle- but as I look closer, I can't see any bells at all.

"-ah, Wickbird. If you'll please get started."

I jolt backwards, because it isn't one voice that says this- but two. Staring out from behind the bell woman, two identical men tilt their heads in synchronisation, smiling coolly. I open my mouth stupidly for a second, but the girl in the robes giggles as the two men look at each other in perfect time- then back to me, shaking their heads.

"Get started." They repeat blankly.

Not wanting to be told again, I make a straight line for the tree section and begin to climb up the first one, aided with a little dagger to keep me steady. After two days of being forced to repeat this- Chess was pretty adamant that I hone the skill- it only takes me about ten seconds to reach the ceiling- and, the Gamemakers are glancing up at me with mild interest.

No one really uses these synthetic trees in their training I guess, which is a shame because it looks like they were a hassle to install in here. Each of them is essentially just a big pole with a few weedy branches and no leaves- attached to the ground and the ceiling.

Alright... this isn't so hard. Now- just need to make it to the next tree over...

I push my body right up against the trunk, breathing in deeply as I prepare for the lunge. The approving chatter of the Gamemakers aids my confidence as I forcibly push myself from the tree and twist to face the next one- the knife in my hand poised to dig into the wood-

-and yes! I've done it. Skidding and slipping a little with my shoes, I manage to maintain a hold on the second tree, and I beam quietly to myself as there's an appreciative 'whoop' noise. I glance over at the table to see who it was- but my eye catches something that I had missed walking in.

On the ground before the Gamemakers, there is a puddle of blood- much too large to be something trivial. My face slackens in horror, and my grip on the knife's handle weakens as I begin to consider what or _who _caused that injury-

-it could be Chess. That could be _her _blood down there-!

_What if she was killed?_

"Whoah-!"

And my fingers slide away from the blade handle as my upper body leans backwards in horror- but the second I realise what's happening it's too late. My arm snatches forwards for my stronghold- but I'm already falling. The world whistles wildly in my ears as my hair whips from my face- and I suddenly realise that the noise I'm hearing is my own scream-!

_WHAM_.

Air spews from my mouth as my back slams against the mat on the floor at full force. I wheeze in horror- unable to move my numb body as my eyes twitch painfully. I can't breathe- it feels like my lungs have been knocked up against my ribcage-!

"Medical! Medical get the kid out of here!"

Plastic is thrusted against my mouth and hands are pressing in on all sides. My chest rises and falls so rapidly it feels like I'm having a seizure- and the world is getting so hazy as my eyes begin to fail me.

-Chess- can't be dead-! Please don't be dead-!

I can't do this without her-!

**

* * *

**

_Ari Saint-Claire; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 5._

When I walk into the training session, my mind is filled with Laco's advice. I don't want to appear as strong as I am, even though I'm trying to discard my old public image. Surviving in the arena will do that for me.  
Scores will determine who Natalia's mob of careers will target at the bloodbath- and I definitely don't want to be in her line of sight any more than I already am.

That's why Laco advised me on what we're to do. To throw the Gamemakers off scoring us high and thereby disposing of any worry that Natalia and her crew will come after us.

-But the sight that meets me when I walk into the room renders me momentarily stunned.

First of all, it's impossible not to notice the small pool of blood that has stained the floor before the Gamemakers banquet table- which is clotting fast because no one is cleaning it up. The table that holds the camouflage paints has been broken clean in two- with a dumbbell still lying wedged in the middle. As I look around, I can see that targets have been barely pierced by knives and arrows- and a few dummies that hit the floor after being skewered have been dragged and propped up against the walls to keep them out of the way.

-Did any of the tributes before me have this kind of power when I saw them before? I try to remember them, but all I remember are the pair with wings and that purple guy who looked more interested in a hook-up then training.

I didn't actually pay attention to the visiting Gamemakers yesterday, so I quickly take in my audience before I begin the plan. There are only about seven altogether, but it's surprising to see a young girl- probably only a few years older than I am- donning the coveted Head Gamemakers robes, folding her arms as she sits and watches me with an amused look.

She's an odd looking example of a Capitol citizen, with no visible _radical_ alterations or tinted skin. She has strangely natural looking blue hair that reaches her middle, and half closed eyes that are sort of obscured by her messily cut fringe. I can feel a chill down my spine as she twirls her finger, beckoning me to carry on while she smiles slyly- but I can't get past how weird it is that the Head Gamemaker is barely older than I am.

Standing before the Gamemakers' table, I take care not to step into the puddle of blood of a tribute before me. Perhaps I look a bit odd- not approaching the weaponry, and I feel an urge to throw this plan to the wind when I see their questioning glances. I catch sight of two identical men, barely older than the girl- smirking identically venomous smiles in my direction.

'_Do it Ari._'

...I have to do this. If I want to survive, I can't give away my strength so easily to these people. He wouldn't want me to, and he'd agree with Laco. That boy who taught me everything... who left me behind to run into the world beyond Panem... to find something better than this...

'_Sing for me._'

With his voice in my head, I straighten up a little higher- breathe in, and sing softly-

_My happiness, is trapped beyond... a glass illusion I will never find.  
When I open up my eyes to the light,  
they reflect the soaring of a distant time._

With my eyes open, I can already see their expressions of confusion. Several are looking at each other excitedly- while some are shaking their heads like I'm doing something stupid. Either way- I continue on- doing my best to focus only on him- the boy who taught me everything-

_Ahh- a single teardrop falls upon the dry ground,  
without leaving a trace  
my hopes are falling down-!_

_ I breathe in your smiling face,  
and the words that you spoke-  
they overflow and shatter in your place-_

_ I've lost heart,  
and I still don't know-  
if I can continue on..._

At the end of this chorus, they've surely realised that this is all I'm planning on doing. Some have stopped paying attention, like Laco said they would. However the girl in charge continues to watch, her hand buried deep in her robes and a smile growing ever wider across her face, further than a normal smile would usually stretch.

'_Go on Ari._' His voice is so crisp and clear, it's like he never left me. '_Keep singing_.'

Each word is strong, but as I finish the chorus a second time I have to close my eyes to stop from thinking too hard on what one of the Gamemakers is writing. The fate that they're deciding for me.

-My ankle sort of tingles when I think about him this long; the ankle with his favourite bird, flying free- tattooed against the skin. The white dove of peace.

"Thank you Ari, that'll be all."

My arms rise up a little in surprise to hear the Head Gamemaker speak so suddenly. "Ah-? Really?"

The girl smiles, but her eyes don't open any wider. I also feel an odd sensation in the pit of my stomach, similar to one that would warn me when I was about to have an argument with Sorca, my agent.  
The corners of her lips are strangely... pointed. And because of the way her hands are gripping the table behind her as she leans against it- tightly, as if she were incredibly furious- I decide go with my gut instinct when I hurry out of the room, not caring to look back at her or the other Gamemakers again.

As the door shut behind me and I hurry down the corridor to the elevator, I wonder how those Gamemakers are going to react when Laco finishes our plan by singing the exact same song for his training session.  
Will they be angry or feel cheated? I'm sure they will- they'll know we planned it to hide our strengths. They'll either mark us incredibly low, which is what Laco and I want- or they'll score us unbelievably high to spite our efforts.

I doubt they'd do that, because that'd risk the betting odds, and from what I can tell- that's not something Gamemakers usually allow to happen. The Hunger Games has always been a huge gambling event, at least according to papers and news headlines.

...still, I can't help but worry... I don't want to be targeted so early in the game. I want to make it away from the cornucopia alive and... relatively unscathed if possible. If being scored low helps me in that goal, then that's what I want.

Through these games, I'll cast aside the old Ari Saint-Claire; the girl who couldn't stand up to her father. There'll be no more mindless happy singing, no more meaningless sing-songs... no more.

As I press the button for the fifth floor, I take the time to watch as the letters slowly flicker to the training floor, and the doors open wide for me to enter. Heaving a sigh, I swallow, feeling my parched throat ache in the faint feeling of anxiety that has overcome me.

Mother in Heaven... I hope you're not mad at me... for trying to destroy the future you worked so hard to build for me... I hope you'll watch over me, and keep me safe like that boy used to...

It's funny, but I remember more about him than I do you Mother... I remember how golden his brown hair looked under the sunlight. The way those brown eyes would smile without words. And yet, he was so strong- and was so determined in his fight against the Capitol...

I know you might not have approved of him Mother. Especially since he wasn't... he wasn't from here. Only I really knew him, and only he knew me. That's why he trained me, in fighting and protecting myself- thinking that one day, we would run away from all this.

...

As the elevator chimes gently and the doors open to the fifth floor, I hastily gasp in a breath and wipe the tears away from my eyes before I step out into the hallway- preparing to meet George and our stylists.

-I can't think of him right now. I need to push him to the back of my mind, just as I promised myself I would all that time ago.  
I need to be strong, and I can't be strong when I'm thinking of him...

The District boy who taught me everything...

...and then disappeared without a trace.

...

...Namer...

**

* * *

**

_Ferroh Axum; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 7._

I've known in my head what I'd do for my training session since yesterday, when I picked up that lance that had been mixed in with the spears by accident. The wooden handle was longer than I was- but it was light and easy to move, and when I whirled it about I commanded a lot more attention then I cared for.

-Sure, I declined the girl from 2's offer to join up with 'the careers'- because even though I'm about to be faced with a very elaborate death sentence, I'd rather die than resort preying on the weaker tributes.  
I'm fighting my way out of this the way I believe is right. And with that lance, I reckon I could do it. With it I can hunt animals- and with what I learned in the survival cooking station- I'll be able to stay alive.

Though there were others who looked like they'd be... 'preferable' in an alliance, I didn't make any contact. Hell, I couldn't. Not when every pair of eyes that met me either had Galaxy's look of fear or the girl from 2's look of cunning. There were only a few tributes that looked at me with hope, but they too were much too timid to make contact.

I don't know their names off by heart. I looked them up in the tribute pamphlet when I discovered the collection existed- and I know that they're all the youngest- but I couldn't remember all their names or Sector numbers. One was from the first, and had a pair of wings. Another had tattoos and tended to dodge and dive around tributes, trying to catch what they were all up to... the girl from twelfth I believe. There was a boy as well, but he made no eye contact, and seemed untrusting.

-but there was one amongst them that caught my eye.

The girl from 6. Faye-Anna.

I've always hated the tributes that preyed upon the youngest tributes. The people, who allowed them to be reaped, tormented, _killed_. Thinking about it now makes me grit my teeth- even as I wait for my name to be called.  
It's why I volunteered for that boy, Galaxy's brother. I couldn't be one of those people. I _couldn't _allow myself to sink to their level.

-but it's not enough. I want to prove to the world that I'm not heartless like they think. And that's why this paternal feeling I've got inside... I want to keep it. I want to protect someone like her.

That way no one will mistake me for a monster. And my family and friends back home... they'll be able to smile, even if it's a pathetic smile, and know that I'm the guy they knew. And I too, can believe it as well.

...that's my plan, anyway. Whether or not it works out that way... I'll just have to wait and see. After all, if the arena is so cruel as to kill them all right away, I might just give up entirely...

"Sector 7, Ferroh Axum."

And it's time to shine. Gripping my chair as I push myself to my feet, I feel all eyes on me as I stride from this room, ready to decide the fate of my score. Exuding this natural confidence, I catch the eye of the girl from 11- one of the Sector 2 girl's cronies- and it's so hard not to smirk when she hunches back into her chair just to shy away from my stare.

-alright, I'll admit it. Being black and living in a racist society has its advantages, the main one being 'irrational fear'.

Though, it might be a problem in the arena, having everyone desperate to kill me.

Somehow, the training room is different when it's devoid of the rest of the Capitol kids around. I spy the Gamemakers' table straight away- but I don't bother with them. They're here to watch, and I'm here to skewer some dummies for their approval.

So let's get on with it.

I find my favourite spear right away in the barrel, and its steel neck is cold in my hand- so I know that no one else has tried to use it. Holding it aloft, I turn to the dummies strewn up against the wall- and I'm taken aback to see almost all of them have their stuffing spilling out of their hand-woven bowels and onto the floor.

-Can't skewer dummies if there aren't any to skewer.

"Oi," I look over my shoulder, fixating far across the room on the Avox currently serving a platter of cocktails. "I need some new dummies."

The Avox, a middle-aged man with a shaved head and deep wrinkles around his cheeks, stares blankly at me in answer. There's a soft chortle as one of the Gamemakers calls that 'there's none left'.

I wasn't expecting that. My hand tenses angrily. "Then get me a sparring partner."

Though none of them say a word, a man with a rather ornamental beak for a nose looks at the Avox and then nods to me with his chin, quite plainly signalling 'you're up'.  
I move my legs apart to keep myself steady as the Avox man slowly makes his way over to me, picking up a lance from the barrel to defend himself. There's a look in his eyes that show he's not frightened in the least, so he's probably been told to do this before.

Perhaps he does this every year with someone.

The moment he stands about ten feet away from me, I nod my head- and feel an odd sensation in my gut when he nods back. I haven't really done this with anyone before, and I don't know what I should be aiming to do here. Do I want to knock the lance out of his hand- push him up against a wall- render him unable to fight- stab him- gut him- _kill him-_?

_-_kill him?

My entire body goes rigid, but I forget the thought as quickly as I created it, and the two of us jump right into the fight- the metal of the poles clanging together. I had almost expected the man to half-heartedly fight against me, but he's clearly using all the strength he has as he pushes all his weight against me.

I push forwards and jump back, swinging the bladed end of the spear towards me and the end of the pole at his stomach in an attempt to knock him down- but he magnificently ducks _under _my swing- and whips his own lance at my legs so quickly that before I recognise what's going on, I'm sprawled on the floor- staring up in surprise at the gleaming point of Avox's lance.

Laughter. There are Gamemakers, laughing at me. I can't move, the tip of this lance pointed against my nose, but my body is shaking with an uncontrollable rage I don't recognise.

They're _laughing _at me.

He withdraws the point from me, and kneels down to help me up. My heart beats inside my eardrums, and I can hear the sound of his blood pulsing as his hand reaches out for mine.

How _dare _he-!

And in a fraction of a second, I kick up into his stomach- sending the man flying off me and against the wall lined with mutilated dummies- flinging his lance and only line of defence clattering to the ground far out of his reach-!

The laughter stops in lieu of a hoarse cry of- "WHOAH BOY-!"

I feel an inaudible groan from the Avox when my hands grapple around his throat, but I don't give a damn about him. Without even trying- he upstaged me- he humiliated me- I have to beat him- I have to _kill _this bastard-!

His arms thrash out against me, hitting and pounding at my chest, desperate for me to let go- but I dig my nails in deeper- pushing my thumbs against his throat as wheezing noises begin to erupt from his mouth in short, gaping bursts. Gritting my teeth together- I pull his head forwards and slam it against the wall- interrupting his attempts to breathe.

"Die!" I hiss furiously, pounding his head- feeling blood beginning to smear against my fingers. "Die! Die-!"

Someone behind me is shouting. "Get him away from him-!", but there's mocking laughter, a male's voice answers- "Let him continue, this is hilarious."

-Before I can witness the man's eyes rolling backwards or his head beginning to cave in- two pairs of arms pull me backwards- and there's a sudden ringing in my head that brings me back to my senses, causing me to drop my arms to my sides and stare in terror as the bloodied lump of a man slumps to his feet, heaving for air.

"That was particularly brutal." Says two similar voices on either side of me.

...why... I feel my throat close up in shock... why was I doing that...? He didn't... I don't do things like this... what... what would I have done if no one had stopped me...?

"He's going to be _wonderful _in these Games."

-Was I going to kill him?

**

* * *

**

_Britney Frailer; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 9._

_They're going to laugh_. _They're going to laugh at me and give me a big fat zero._

Over and over I repeat this in my head, and every time I do so I feel just a few clicks closer to completely losing it. Galaxy sat by me until she left, voicing her own depressing worries that she's going to fail at anything she tries in there; which doesn't make me feel any better.  
I want this to be over already. Why do I have to go in there and show them what I can do? Doesn't that... eliminate the surprise... or some stupid reason like that?

Galaxy's long gone. Three people have left after her, including her scary Sector partner- Ferroh- who she spent a long time explaining the dark looks he constantly gives her. After that, the girl from 8 strode confidently into the room without looking back, and after her- that big pale guy who Monty seems to be friends with all of a sudden.

Okay, I'll admit it. I wanted to be allies with Monty. After all, he's a big guy, and even though he's not at all like my older brother with all those piercings- he's definitely someone reliable and strong. Not that I don't trust Galaxy, I just don't think she's really... well, she's not as strong as Monty is.

-And I want to live.

No one has shown any interest in us. The two girls in the group of tributes who got together to become some sort of career group occasionally glance and snicker in our direction, but that's it. It makes me feel sort of... unimportant, which is a pain because back home I never had to deal with that, being popular.

Whatever the outcome of these games, my baby sisters are going to have to watch it- over and over and over again. I don't want to be a loser in these games and have them forced to watch it, having that pounded into their heads that I had no chance.  
That's why I have to do well. I can't get a zero, I just can't. I don't know if they've ever given out a zero before, but I just _can't _be the first. I can't.

What I'm going to do in there still escapes me right now, but I'm thinking I need to dig into my skills as a cheerleader and play up that aspect of myself. If I can show that I'm nimble and able to flip about out of harm's way, which should give me a few points at least. How can anyone kill me if they can't hit me?

...strangely enough... I don't even want to think too hard on that question. There are so many ways I could die after all... but I don't like the idea of any of them.

"Sector 9, Britney Frailer."

Oh... oh god it's finally me. Alright then, time to go...

As I stand up, Monty looks up from his feet and gives me an encouraging smile, but doesn't say anything. Not much is really needed to be said- particularly not when the entire room is dead with silence- but I appreciate the gesture. So I smile back before I quietly make my way towards the training room.

I wonder if he's worried about this...

The training room I see is different from the place I trained in for the past two days. For one, there's a heavy stink of blood all around, and everything has been massacred. Leaning up against the wall is the remnants of a heavy wooden table broken clean in half- and dozens of dummies all strewn about with their fluff all pulled out. I can see that a light has been taken out, and there's a huge stain in front of the Gamemaker table that looks horribly like blood.

-But they all look very cheerful, if not bored. About three of them glance at me, but not a word is said. I guess they just want me to get on with it so they can continue with their drinking.

The best place for me to do my tumbles and turns without breaking myself is around the evasion station, where all the floor mats are thankfully still intact- but it's a little out of view of the Gamemakers, but I'm not prepared to waste loads of my time setting up the mats over that puddle of blood, so I'll make do here.

My first few moves are simple ones, but the moment I hear an approving 'ahh', I begin to calm down. Just like when I was in school, I train my eyes on one spot on the wall, so no matter how many times I spin about- I don't get dizzy. And to stop myself being nervous, I do my best to think on anything other than how desperate I am not to get a zero.

Handstand, front roll, cartwheel- doing these used to be sort of a bragging right back home. We'd do these at lunch time in the courtyard for the sports teams, showing off our cute little uniforms that flipped up and down without giving it all away.  
I miss that. Being safe in my uniform, amongst all my friends. Here, all I have is Galaxy, and she doesn't give me the same sense of belonging those times did.

My back flip is a bit rusty, but I land on my hands and then jump again- landing perfectly on my feet. Every now and then I glance over at the table of Gamemakers, but only three seem to keep looking at me. One is the girl in Head Gamemaker robes, whose eyes are hidden behind her fringe- and the other two is a large man who is more leering than observing, and an old man with an expression of distaste on his lips.

Not my greatest audience... but I think this deserves at least a four. None of the other tributes seemed that nimble to me, and this should be something different. Something in the Games that will set me apart from the other girls.

Ten more minutes pass of one handed hand stands, backward rolls- and then I'm told very curtly by the girl in robes that I can 'go now'- and the moment she says this I realise how little I've been breathing, and I rush from the room- desperate for the air I gulp down outside that is free from the stink of blood.

-at least a four. All that had to give me at least a four.

Cheerleading was one of the few things I could do well. I mean, I could never do maths or write great stories or poetry- but cheerleading was something I could do. They had to have seen that in there, right?

...

But I can't answer my own question, and all I can think about is how my little sisters are going to ask my Mother what that 'small number' next to their sister's picture means.

...Swallowing, I press the button for the elevator and stare up at the number 9, but not before noticing the little golden number 4 lighting up five spaces below it.

-Please be bigger than a four...

...let me be worth more than a four...

**

* * *

**

_Vince Bryant Pace; 12 years; the Capitol Sector 11._

It's such a pain being the very last to perform. Sure, I can use the Gamemakers' definite boredom to my advantage in making sure I have a deceptively low score- but it's the boredom _I _suffer I can barely stand.

I've been sitting here for three hours, waiting for my turn to come around. At first I had company to keep me from gnawing on the furniture, but now they have all disappeared- as once you are finished with your training, evidently you don't come back.  
Sapphire is still here. Regrettably. I've grown to hate her over the past few days, with her constant talk of 'Dead Mother this' and 'Father in Heaven' that. I had half a sense to grab one of those puny station knives and plunge it into her face just to make the incessant babble _stop_.

Luckily, she's quiet now. Nerves or something has locked that mouth of hers up. She surely seemed to love talking around that girl from 6- and Lily- I mean, Liotta.

...I have to stop calling her that. It'll do my head in if I keep it up. I keep thinking that the girl I pretended to love is still here with me, and doing that is taking a huge toll on my mental stamina. There's only so much acting I can do, and that girl from Sector 1 is sending me over my limit.

It's just; she looks _just _like Lily, her exact doppelganger almost, aside from that pair of wings. I'm thankful she has them- because without those it'd be like I never left home, or left behind that side of me that might have been unable to do what I need to survive.  
Though we were dating, we never kissed or touched. I mean, we were twelve- it wasn't like our hormones really expected anything. However Lily was sort of an example to the world that I cared about something, even though I didn't care as much as she might have thought.

And with Liotta... it's like that's all back... and I have to get rid of her, quickly, if I want to succeed.

Cotton left quite a while ago, so I'm sure my name will be called at any moment now. After watching Cotton the past few days, I'm actually a little cautious of the airheaded girl. While showing off, she proved to have quite a lot in the way of evasion techniques- and she wasn't so bad with daggers. Luckily she thinks I'm a stupid cry-baby, so none of her talent will be of any use.

-None of their talents will. To each of these tributes, I am not an important factor. I'm a bloodbath tribute who will just disappear in the splatter of blood that is the start of the Games. None of them know that I have the ability to outlast them all. Outlive them all.

Out _kill_ them all.

What a trial it is not to burst out into laughter, knowing how pitiful the rest of them truly are when faced with such a simple charade. I know that many children my age from the Districts have pulled this sort of scheme- but those from the Districts are smarter after years of being fooled. I have a fresh crop of idiots and thanks to that- I'll be able to win.

I'd enjoy it if I wasn't so frustrated with that idiocy. Part of me almost wants to be found out so there'd be some sort of... _shred _of difficulty to face me. These Games almost feel like they'll be a bore rather than a life-changing factor of my life.

"Sector 11, Vince Pace."

Instantly, I pull on an expression of dread as easily as putting on a mask. Sapphire looks at me with unknowing eyes- giving me a sympathetic snivel of a smile as I slowly rise to my feet in front of the two remaining tributes.

Stupid girl. I can only hope her brute of a Sector partner clunks her over the head and kills her. Pity there's still two days left of these morons I have to endure until the Games.

I practice my facial expressions on the way to the room, ranging from saddened to terrified, but I make sure to look meek when I open the doors to the training room. Sure enough, the Gamemakers barely look at me as they continue on talking drunkenly amongst themselves- happy enough to ignore me.

Since the first day, I knew the one station I was bound to be ignored in completely. The camouflage station has always been the one station most easy to forget, particularly since all you're really doing is swirling your finger in gunk and painting surfaces or your skin- thereby being the one I need to help being overlooked.

Trying to throw knives would give them the impression I intend to fight. Camouflage just seems to say 'I've already given up, forget about me' – which is _exactly _what I want.

Sponsors will come even if I don't get a high score to wave about. Those who pity children feel charitable watching them in the Games, so I'll play off that. And those who see that I actually mean business- then I'll have their money too.

The paint I dip my finger into is warm and sticky, and though I've never been one for paints- I did however like charcoal- I can already hear the murmurs of displeasure from the table of Gamemakers, and for the next fifteen minutes I sit there, occasionally snivelling for image sake, until finally a loud voice tells me I can go.

It's hard not to skip when I shuffle quietly from the room. Idiots they are, all of them. The tributes, the Gamemakers- and surely the sponsors as well. How is winning going to be a challenge when everyone is so _incredibly _stupid?

While I wait for the elevator, my hand slips into my pocket and touches the paper tucked inside.

...it's for him that I'll win. I'll win for my fallen father, and then I can take care of the woman who wrote this... this lie to keep me from avenging him. And when I do, I'll tear it up, in front of everyone- and she'll know that _she's next_.

Quietly, I pull my hand back out of my pocket and begin thinking on what expression of dread I should show in front of that stupid girl Cotton and the stylists.

Idiots. For the moment, I can't help but smile.

Thank god for all the idiots.

Because without them, this might have actually been a challenge.

**

* * *

**

**Capitol Question #008; which tribute do you think will kill the most?**

The winner of **Special Event #001; what is the best song to represent the character "Vince Bryant Pace" **is _Tour de Force_, who answered with "_Like O, Like H_" by Tegan and Sara.

**Any feedback is very much appreciated on my part, because it helps me out very much. **


	34. All in a Number

**A Vivid Note: **and it's time for the training _scores_! You'll also learn a little bit more about what other characters did for their training sessions- and you'll also get to see how they all did on a scale of one to twelve. Excited? Haha. I wrote the full scores at the bottom of the chapter, for convenience sake.

We're getting _really _close now to the Games, but we still have a bit more to go. Let's have a little more patience my darling and we'll get there before you know it. And once we do... you'll wish we weren't there... fufufufufu...

Also, I enjoy screwing around and making relationship triangles, squares and dodecahedrons. You'll see. Though you may have given me the skeletons for your character, and you have the potential to aid them, I am ultimately the master of their fate... and I plan to torture them best I can until they're completely and totally _dead_.

**Capitol Question #009; were the scores what you expected them to be?**

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Marshall Bruce Matthews; 14 years; the Capitol Sector 2._

My body is still aching from my training session, but I can't help but feel confident. That group of Gamemakers looked more than bored when I came in- and not a single one could take their eye off me when I left.  
-I'm quite glad I was such a class clown before Dad beat the carefree life out of me. Though I spent most of my time focusing on where my hands were landing and whether or not I had lopped off any of the dummies' heads- when I did see their faces, those Gamemakers looked positively ecstatic.

Like they could tell I was going to bring entertainment.

It also helped that when I walked into this dining room, the ever contemptible Natalia Marinos looked like she'd been slapped across the face. Her eyes didn't meet mine, and that only made me smile more.

I _badly _want her score to be lower than mine. If it is- I don't know- I'll be nice to Missy and won't call her seaweed witch- or something like that. I just _really _want to see Natalia's hurt face; to see her broken and shamed. Almost as much as I want to hurt my Father- Natalia has made me hate her that much in such a short stretch of time.

"You confident?" Mars, our mentor from District 2- asks in a surly voice. "Kid?"

That's his nickname for me. When Natalia and I were introduced to him after the chariots- this smile grew on his face when he reached forward to shake my hand- and all of us were taken aback when he said-

"_You've got promise kid._"

To be honest, at first I only liked the preferential treatment because I knew it pissed Natalia off to high heaven- but now I appreciate Mars' efforts because it really makes me feel like I _can _do this.

"Yeah," I push my hair out of my eyes, throwing him a casual smirk. "I think I did pretty well."

Missy tries to look eager, but she still looks as bored as ever. "Oh? Well what about you Natalia? Do you think you did well?"

A grunt. I try not to snicker too loudly as I eye the seventeen year old look away- clearly frustrated with whatever effort she had made. I'm sure she knows why I'm so cocky right now, and I bet it's eating her up inside.

"They'll be showing them soon," Missy says while pointing towards the screen mantled on the wall. "Ah, hey- you-"

She turns to an Avox who practically jumps at her words. Out of almost nowhere, Missy brandishes a pen and notepad- holding them out to the servant.

There's no nonsense with Missy apparently, because she's quite direct about everything- unlike the other escorts. "Record the scores for us."

Diligently, the Avox takes the pen and paper and stares fixatedly on the screen- possibly terrified that they might miss something and be punished. I'm not too familiar with how they deal with Avoxes- and I'm guessing it's probably not unlike the severe beat downs my father likes giving me.

"Starting." Mars mutters, smirking slightly as he catches my eye. "Good luck."

Both Natalia and I stare up at the screen from the table- and in this moment we completely forget about our feud as we await the scores that will determine how effective our training efforts were.

First it shows District 1, starting with the girl. They took photos of us before training on the first day- so everyone still looks a little haggard from the night before. The girl- Liotta- scores a pretty measly 4- which isn't all that surprising based on how young she is, the 4 is probably out of pity.  
Her partner on the other hand scores a 10, which Mars lets out a sudden 'Ha?' over. I try to remember him, Jason Blackheath, from training- but I draw a blank. We probably never spoke.

-And then it's our turn... Natalia's photo takes the screen, those damn murderous eyes staring out and then the number beside her reads- '6'.

...6? She scored a _6_?

I can't control it. For a few seconds I silently crack up until I can hold it in no longer and have to grip the table to keep myself falling out of my chair. Natalia is rigid beside me- her arms shaking with anger.

"Shut up-!" She snaps, whipping around to face me. "It's a perfectly fine score!"

"Dude, the guy with _wings _scored higher than you!" I have tears in my eyes, and the urge to scream with laughter is uncontrollable. "You completely _failed _witch girl! What's your little group of hangers on going to think? HahahaAHAHAHAHAHA-!"

"You-!"

-With my eyes closed, I don't see her lunge, but I do hear her gasp and see Mars grab her by the collar of her shirt- throwing her onto her back and onto the floor. Even Missy looks slightly surprised as Natalia stares up in shock at our mentor, who is staring pointedly at the screen.

...so we all turn to see.

And there I see my picture, full scar intact, sitting beside the crisp white number '11'.

...11...!

"Well done kid." Mars grunts, smiling sort of proudly. "Couldn't have done better myself."

Even Missy smiles approvingly. "Yes, this will help quite nicely..."

Only Natalia and I have nothing to say. I catch the look on my partner's face, and it's of complete despair. The rest of the scores flick past, but no one scores as high as 11. Two guys who I had found an interest in scored a 9 and a 7, but no one scores another 11.

-I'm the strongest of the lot.

Those Gamemakers regarded me as the most dangerous competitor in this Game.

I can't stop grinning to myself. Whispering it aloud only seems to certify it. "...I win... I'm... I'm the most likely to win... I win..."

"You haven't won _yet_."

It's difficult to even acknowledge Natalia when she's in such a pathetic state on the dining room floor. There are tears of frustration building up in her eyes, and her perfectly manicured nails are digging into the floor- but she's breathing heavily, like she's doing her best not to cry.

"You haven't won _yet_, you idiot." Natalia hisses, standing slowly to her feet. "Just because... you scored high... doesn't mean you'll win..."

Perhaps she expected me to be frightened by these attempts at being menacing. Those blue eyes are flaring with a pure hatred I recognise so clearly, and they're as hollow as they were back when we were on that reaping stage.  
However, I don't feel any fear this time. Nothing inside warns me that this girl means any danger like I did that day. In fact, my entire being just wants to sneer at her pathetic attempts to intimidate me.

"Perhaps you're right about that..."

The dining room falls silent. Natalia stands tall but hesitant as I slowly raise my face up to meet hers, smiling nastily as I see those eyes full of hate flicker with fear.  
I've never felt more powerful in my entire life.

"-but it does mean that I'll certainly kill you, _Natalia_."

Nothing more is needed to be said, and nothing is as Natalia turns away and flees from the room- her hands white from tension. I stare after her; feeling accomplished as Missy shakes her head and slowly walks after her- clearly not too worried.

In the corner of my eye, I see Mars shake his head.

"Why are you doing this kid? What are you accomplishing from pissing the girl off so badly?"

Pausing, I smile slightly.

"...there's a man back home, which needs to know that I meant business when I said I'd kill him. And the only way I can do that... is to create a person with enough hatred for me as I have for him... and kill them."

There's quiet for a moment, and I hear a snigger of laughter.

"...creating a person..."

Mars chortles softly and is still smiling as he sits down. "...you remind me of a frightening person kid... and I don't know if that's a good thing."

Those words irk me a bit, so I frown and face him head on.

"What do you mean?"

But Mars doesn't actually answer me. Instead, he reaches over to a glass of water, and- his smile disappearing- mumbles into the rim of his glass-

"-we can only create monsters."

...

I don't understand him.

Though by the way he's talking, I don't think I really want to.

**

* * *

**

_Minerva Nanaia; 18 years; the Capitol Sector 4._

As the scores begin to air, I'm trying as hard as I can to remember _exactly _what I had done in that training room. I remember throwing knives into targets and dummies, and shooting arrows that didn't really hit their marks. I was nervous, thinking hard on how much my score mattered in terms of sponsoring, how my Father was apparently no longer Head Gamemaker and neither of my parents were to be seen, and then that got me thinking about Vidar...

It's been three days since I saw him, and it could be a long time until I see him again... I don't doubt that I won't ever again... because I'm going to win this... I have to win this... I can't _not _win this.

My fingers trace along my bottom lip as I watch the screen change from tribute to tribute. The first girl scores dismally, but the boy scores a surprising 10. Both of them had wings implanted into their backs, which had convinced me they wouldn't be a threat. I guess I was half wrong.  
The second Sector is a bit higher. A 6 and an... 11? I can hear Vinel groan slightly beside me and our mentor Juan tut disapprovingly. The boy is only fourteen, so it's shocking to see him score so high.

Then it's Sector 3, and the scores are a bit lower again, a 6 and a 4. This calms my nerves a little, as both of the tributes had been quite young- around fifteen or sixteen- and I wasn't expecting them to score high. If they had like the boy from 2, that would've unsettled my nerves even more.

"You guys next," Snowflake, our escort twitters nervously. "Fingers crossed~!"

...it's not something that _luck _play a part in Snowflake. Vinel looks at me with a sympathetic smirk, but I don't return it. As kind as he was on the chariots, I don't want to encourage 'friendly' behaviour between the two of us. He's the kind of guy who would get the wrong idea quickly, and that's the last thing I want with a ring on my finger.

I'm the first on screen. Stiffening, my eyes ignore the headshot of me and focus quickly on the white block number '7'.

...highest of the girls so far. Not too low, not that high.

I've done okay.

There's no point holding back the sigh of relief, so I don't. However as soon as I close my eyes, there's a loud whooping noise from Vinel- and my eyes open again to see his face on the screen, and a number that almost knocks the wind out of me.

10.

...this guy... got a... 10..?

"Read 'em and weep baby!" Vinel hoots loudly, putting his hand up for Juan to high-five. "I knew I blew that team of 'makers away!"

The celebration is quick lived, but his smile doesn't disappear- and neither does my look of alarm. More scores flick by, faster than they actually do, but none of them are higher than that- aside from the boy from 7 who scores another 10. But how on Earth did Vinel score so high, and what could he have possibly done?

...and how... how come I'm crying-? I can't... I can't breathe..!

Without any warning, I push out of my seat- not wanting to look any of them in the eye as the tears spill forth.

"Excuse me-!"

Snowflake starts out after me, but I close the door too quickly for her to follow. I can hear the sound of footsteps, but I don't want to be followed by any of them, so I duck inside the supply closet rather than risk waiting for an elevator to the roof. The dining room door opens and closes, but they run to the rooms and the rarely used stairwell. Cries of "Minerva!" fill the corridor, but I huddle between a bucket and a mop, hoping that even if someone were to open the door- they'd look right past me and leave me be.

It's all becoming too much for me...

The styling, the wedding gown, the chariots, the training, the scores, the interviews, the alliances, the waiting-!

-It's all too much! This is too much for me to bear all by myself!

I push my hands against my eyes, trying to silence the choking sobs that shake my body. It's been years since I've allowed myself to cry- and I can't even remember when it was that I last spilled tears.  
I don't cry. Minerva never cried. Even with siblings who never cared, and parents who were never there- she didn't need them. She grew up without them, and turned into a wonderful grown woman- all on her own... she did it all on her own..!

"I... I d-did it all... I did..."

No one _ever _helped me... even Vidar couldn't... not when he had so much already... he said that's why he loved me... because I wasn't weak... I was strong... I could do everything... I didn't need to depend on anyone...

-but if I'm so strong... why did I score so low..? Why was I chosen to be _here_?

I've worked so hard... why couldn't... why couldn't all my hard work... why didn't it save me from having to do all this alone..?

"...I'm strong... I-I'm strong... aren't... _aren't I_?"

The darkness doesn't answer me. I can hear nothing but my own struggling breaths, and the slowly dying sounds of the search outside. Time passes by, slowly and painfully as my chest heaves in and out, and as it does- I begin to tremble in the cold.

...I never... I never wanted to do everything myself...

Gripping my engagement ring, I close my eyes as I allow myself to think my forbidden, honest feelings.

...I wanted... someone to depend on... someone to pat me on the head... and say... 'that's enough Minerva... I'll take it from here...'... and I could smile... and not have to worry about everything... my family... my writing... the wedding... these Games...

...

No one... no one will ever help me. No one will take these burdens off my back. I'm like Akupara, the tortoise that carries the entire world on his shell...  
I don't want to live like this... I don't want to die... I want to be carefree, and happy... I want to be able to find a reason to smile... and know that I'll make it home...

...this ring is a promise... that I'll make it back to Vidar... but... what if... the Minerva who Vidar loves... dies here... not in the Games... but just in this little closet filled with mops and forgotten mess..?

Tears trickle down my cheeks, tangling the waves of brown hair that curl around my face. I grab my knees, and bury my face into them, willing myself to wake up from this nightmare that has plagued my entire life.

"...Minerva..?"

There's no point looking up when I know it's him. The door sheds little light, meaning the hallway's lamps have dimmed since I first ran out there. The search for me has probably been long abandoned. Yet as his shoes step into sight, I can't help but release more of the tears in my eyes.

"...are you... going to be okay..?"

Vinel's voice isn't at all like I remembered. That annoying, arrogant tone that snapped back at me on the chariot or the suave, flirtatious manner he used over breakfast. It's soft and concerned, and inviting.

I inhale deeply, struggling past the build up in my nose. "...no... I'm not..."

The door begins to swing shut, but even in the darkness, I continue.

"...I'm going to die... for all my confidence... I'm going to be killed..."

I hear shuffling noises as he kneels down to my level, and a hand reaches out and touches my shoulder. I flinch from the warmth of his hands, but I don't recoil like I would've in any other circumstance.

"Minerva... you're not going to die..." His hand moves along to the base of my neck, finger along my cheek. "Believe me... you're not..."

"...you don't... y-you can't decide that-!" I begin, on the verge of bursting out into a fresh wave of tears. "You d-don't know that Vinel-!"

"I'll protect you."

-That's when my head rises up suddenly, stunned.

Yet, in the darkness, Vinel looks at me with a strange smile and softly glimmering eyes.

"...you'll... " My heart is beating so quickly, it's hard to form words. "...Vinel..?"

Our eyes meet, as if for the very first time.

...And somehow, I feel no surprise in my chest when Vinel leans in forwards for me; his hand gently stroking my hair; trying to comfort me as I struggle to recognise what is happening in this moment.

...

I won't die... not yet...

Vidar...

**

* * *

**

_Brandit Gailer; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 6._

I should be happy right now; relieved that my efforts are being rewarded. I shouldn't feel this heavy sense of doubt now that I know the scores.

An 8 is what I received for my training session. I had grabbed a sword and torn apart dummies at random, trying to make it look strategic. Though I think I pulled a leg muscle doing all those twists and rolls- it paid off. By the end of my training session I had completely destroyed every dummy in the training centre that had been intact when I had walked in, and one of the Gamemakers even congratulated me. An 8 is a good score.

-but the dining room isn't filled with words of congratulations. Instead, it's filled with Faye-Anna's shaking sobs, as both Wezca and Baby try to persuade her that everything is going to be okay.  
She got a 3, the second lowest score shared only with the girl with no hands, making her one of the top 5 candidates to be a bloodbath tribute.

Sienna, our mentor, just sits across the room- staring at me with a disapproving look on her face while I wonder what I could possibly do in this situation to make it any better.

"Proud?" Sienna asks an unlit cigarette between her fingers. "Pleased that your partner did so poorly?"

I don't know what to say back to that. Why is she so angry at me when I haven't done anything? Quickly, I shake my head as I try to avoid Baby's sour stares- clearly indicating she too believes I'm some kind of beast out to kill Faye-Anna.

"There were volunteers like you in my Games too," Sienna mutters, barely audible over Faye-Anna's snivelling noises. "Bastards, the lot of them."

Her words strike hard in my chest, but I stand firm- doing my best not to shout back lest it make me come off any worse without trying. Sienna's games presently slip my mind, so I'm guessing the only volunteers were career tributes- none of which are really liked by the non-career Districts.

The woman, having waved over an Avox to light her cigarette, continues to stare at me blankly. "I'll be disappointed if anyone sponsors a brute like you."

This I can't handle. What did I do to earn me this sort of treatment?

Through gritted teeth I mutter. "I'm _not _a brute."

"Haa?" Sienna breathes, tauntingly. "So you volunteered to murder your fellow citizens for what reason? Bastard. That's what you are."

"Sienna-" Baby begins quietly.

And I watch as the woman throws her hands in the air. "Alright, I'll leave the _harmless _kid alone, but only if _he_ leaves Faye alone."

With that Sienna looks at me accusingly, which makes my entire body twinge with anger. Ever since the first day- without any prompting from me- this entire Sector 6 team has hated me for nothing except volunteering. Tonight is almost a minor example of the intense abuse I've suffered overall since the chariot rides.

There's no reason for me to stay here and endure this. I was told yesterday by the guy from Sector 4 that the roof garden is free for tributes to view at their leisure. Sitting here under the intense glare of Sienna and the stylists, that garden is starting to sound _incredibly _appealing.

"If you excuse me-"

I don't even wait to see if there are any objections- but no one makes a sound except for that damned woman, who snorts loudly in disgust as I let the door quietly close behind me.

...I bet none of the other tributes have to deal with this garbage right now. At first I was horrified that people are viewing me as some sort of murderous villain- but now it's just making me furious. When have I _ever _made myself out to be a bad guy aside from willingly putting myself into these Games?

The elevator is cold, and the empty waiting music does nothing to calm me down, only frustrating me more over how mindlessly stupid my once beloved city has turned out to be. It makes me think of home, of my parents and how empty their support now seems in retrospect- and that stinging feeling against my face when my little sister lashed her hand across it.

...Neon... she really seemed to hate me. And Vin looked so morose, pulling her away from me- like he didn't really want to let the assault stop.  
They were my family... and right now, thinking of them makes that _pig _of a woman appealing.

'_-you lied when you didn't tell me you were going to do this!_'

Going home to face them... if I do get to go home to face them... it's going to be hell.

A soft 'ding' sounds as the elevator's doors slide open to the cold rooftop, but it's a pleasant cold compared to the elevator- so I walk outside and drink in the fresh air of the garden, and the surprisingly fragrant aroma of the flowers.  
Usually, I'm not one for nature- but right now isn't really all that usual. Today alone I slit dummies' throats in order to be scored out of twelve in level of deadliness.

I'm glad that there's no one else up here. There'd probably be more scowling, judging and just general hatred towards me if there was... and I'm so tired of all that. If there was but one person I could stand alongside that I trusted, I might be able to stand it...

...but I don't have one. I'm going to die in these Games, aren't I? I volunteered to die, not to experience a once in a lifetime opportunity. It's a once in a lifetime opportunity because taking that opportunity _takes _away your life.

Hell... even the edge of this rooftop is beginning to look inviting. Though I doubt falling to my death is going to make this any better. Somehow, death doesn't feel like it's going to solve any of these problems...

"-thinking of jumping?"

The sound of a voice alarms me so much that my hand- which was running along the edge of the barrier- smacks backwards and into my face. As the girl begins to laugh, I turn around quickly in time to see the girl from 2 smirking dryly at me. Natalia; the girl who asked me to become part of her team of 'careers'.

"Nice reflexes Brandit," Natalia smiles, walking up alongside me. "You're going to be a fun one, aren't you?"

I look away, a little stupidly. "...I don't know..."

Her face falls from the sound of my tone. "I'm not trying to have a go at you. I didn't come up here to make _more _people hate me."

Hearing her say this of all things makes me relax just a little.

"Having trouble with your team?"

"And then some."

Sighing, she rests against the edge of the rooftop beside me, tapping her right foot against the back of her left. I barely catch myself observing this in time to look away before she notices that I'm actually glancing the girl up and down.  
It's been a while since I've been next to a girl who wasn't convinced I was about to pull out a knife and gut her. Even though there have been whispers about Natalia being a ruthless, conniving girl- that reached even my ears- standing here with her makes them all seem fake.

"So why are you up here?" Natalia asks with a frown. "Is your team giving you trouble too?"

"...yeah..." I rest my forehead against the heel of my palm. "For lack of a better term... they absolutely _hate _me."

"Why? Because you volunteered?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Natalia staring at me almost knowingly. It makes me feel a little tingly when she already seems to have all the answers but asks anyway.

"...I don't even know why I volunteered." I mutter quietly, shaking my head. "It just... it felt like something I _had _to do... and if I didn't-"

"You'd regret it for the rest of your life?"

Another chill runs up my spine.

"Yeah..." How can she take the words out of my mouth before I even know they're there? "Exactly."

There's a moment of silence, and Natalia giggles again in that older girl way I can't explain. And suddenly she reaches out for my shoulder and gently pats me approvingly.

"Don't beat yourself up Brandit, I understand."

...

For this moment, all the suffering I've gone through is completely worth it.

"...thanks... Natalia."

**

* * *

**

_Koriana Rebexa Wilder; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 8._

"Good job you two," Corbin, the District 8 mentor says- cracking his knuckles. "A 6 and a 9 are good scores, good scores. You did your best."

"Hehe, thanks..." I look down bashfully, smiling. "I didn't really do much..."

"Still was one of the highest scores for the girls, so rest up tonight. You earned it." Corbin yawns again, his heavy brow settling down in his exhaustion. "And so did I. Goodnight all."

It's easy to see how Corbin won his games, whichever ones they were. He's a complete hulk of a guy- who makes Diego look normal sized. His games were about twenty years ago, but he's still got this powerful presence that just makes me feel as small an ant in comparison.  
He's a nice man though, thankfully. He also seemed to realise right away that Diego and I aren't going to go along with the Games willingly. Perhaps that's why he's so nice.

-The scores surprised me a little. For one, no girl scored higher than an 8- and the boy who scored the highest was one of the youngest competitors at age fourteen, and the boy who scored second highest was the one with _wings._ I could hardly believe it, but I was too busy feeling relieved that I had scored a decent mark.

"Are either of you still hungry?" Quiche beams from the dining table. "We could order some celebratory cake if you'd like~?"

She's practically singing. I guess if Diego and I do well, she gets more money or publicity or something. Though I shake my head and stand up to take my leave- politely declining her offer of 'cake' to instead relax in my room before the panic of knowing there's only two more nights until all this ends and the Games begin.

"Kori, wait for me."

I wasn't expecting Diego to speak, let alone ask me to wait up for him- but I hide the stunned look and smile weakly as he walks ahead and opens the door for me whilst staring intently at me.

There's not much I can say, but I guess he has something he wants to talk about, so I smile weakly. "Thank you Diego."

At that, Quiche begins to squeal in delight- and the two of us escape into the hallway. Once there, Diego silently motions for us to go into my room- and after a very brief panic attack at what this could imply- I remind myself that Diego doesn't seem at all like that kind of guy, I hope, and I allow him to open the door and for the both of us to slip inside.

He doesn't immediately speak, and out of habit I sit down on the end of my bed and stare at him expectantly while he positions himself by the door. Awkwardness begins to drift about the atmosphere, and I cough slightly in an effort to edge him forwards.

Diego looks like what he's about to say is incredibly difficult, but after a few more seconds of silence- he makes out-

"Do you have any plans for friendships?"

...

...friendships?

"...I don't know what you're talking about," I say slowly, leaning forwards. "Do you mean to ask if I've made any alliances?"

"Yes... I suppose not all alliances are friendships..." Diego relaxes now that his question has formed. "Have you, Kori?"

I shake my head. "No, I haven't."

More silence. I guess after the past few days, I've learned to expect this from Diego. From what I've learned, he didn't have much- if any- social interaction back home, and all this conversing is a little new to him. I can't imagine what it was like for him then.

"I have."

It takes me a few seconds to register what was just said, but when I do, the smile that barely shows on his face is like a rare delight to behold. Diego is actually showing happiness.

I can't help but also beam with happiness. "You... you have an alliance? Great work Diego-!"

"And I wanted to know if you wish to join us."

I stop beaming out of pure shock. Diego looks at me with a concerned stare, and he folds and unfolds his arms as he waits for me to answer him.  
But did I hear him correctly? Did Diego, the guy who on our first night alone questioned me so darkly about alliances, just offer to allow me into this special alliance of his?

Still not quite knowing what to say, I laugh awkwardly. "Um... do you really know what you're asking me Diego?"

His face falls back into the serious expression I've grown so accustomed to these past few days. This was obviously not the reaction he was expecting from me.

"...you do not want to be allies?" He doesn't sound disappointed, rather confused. "Kori, may I ask why?"

At times like this, I'm glad that Diego speaks so formally because it makes explaining that much easier. I fidget with my hands, trying to piece together how to put my reasoning to him.

"...Diego, I told you how I'm not going to play the game..." I begin quietly, looking over at him by the door. "That means I won't kill... I won't fight... and I won't die."

He nods, but doesn't say anything, so I continue.

"If I were part of an alliance... I'd get attached to my allies... friends... and if something were to happen to them..." I look down at my feet, not able to keep eye contact any longer. "...I'd most likely drop my resolve and fight for them... and I can't allow that to happen Diego, I can't..."

-Because if Marabeth or Damon saw me killing another person, I'd never be able to face them or their smiles ever again...

"I understand."

Looking back up, I see Diego as he closes his eyes for a moment- smiles- and then opens them again, looking just as serious as before. Relief spread through me that he isn't angry with me for my decision- and I show this by breaking a tiny, appreciative smile.

"Thank you Diego," I say smiling as he opens my door again. "I... I want you to know that I admire your attitude about this. If we had met earlier..." I stop myself in time, shaking my head and smiling. "Never mind, pointless. I just-"

"-But I want you to now Kori."

A thin line of light from the corridor blinds me momentarily as Diego steps out to leave, but not before he looks back at me- with his trademark serious expression- and renders me speechless.

"-I'll fight for you if it comes to it."

...

When the door closes and Diego's heavy steps disappear down the corridor, I don't even know why the tears are sliding down my face.

**

* * *

**

_Jasse Harridan; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 10._

As part of the 'Capitol-careers', Natalia had said something about expecting those of us she had chosen to be branded with a number 'higher than a 5'. That had worried me at the time, but now that I'm looking at my score of '9'- I'm feeling strangely accomplished.

-At least, in comparison to the rest of them I am.

The highest score overall was 11, but that guy isn't part of our little team because Natalia hates him or something. The highest score _we _have is a 10- from Vinel Greggorus of Sector 4. I'm wondering what he did to score that high, but judging from all that muscle- I wouldn't be surprised if he was the one who messed up all those dummies or broke the camouflage table in half with a set of weights.

The others did alright for themselves. Julian got a 9 as well, and both Brandit and Cotton scored 8. The funny thing is, Natalia- the self-declared leader of the Capitol-careers scored the lowest with a 6, just _barely _higher than the 5 she had scolded us all to score higher than.

She must be furious right now. Maybe it's because she's two years older than me and the fact she looks so pretty normally- but when she gets angry... well, the saying 'if looks could kill' comes to mind.

"Good job Jasse," Evon sighs from her seat at the table, still staring at the television screen- which is now advertising sponsors of the Games- currently the surgical wonders of 'Caduceus Clinic'. "Better job than me anyway."

"Don't say that," I smile weakly, looking over at her as she continues to stare glumly at the television. "You did the best you could."

"Not even that," Evon mumbles, her eyes dropping to her gloved hands. "I couldn't do anything with that_ girl _staring at me the whole time."

I heard about Evon's meeting with the Head Gamemaker earlier today when she didn't show for breakfast. Rimi was furious about it. Apparently she called Evon out of training _just _to tell her they wouldn't do anything for her because of some status issue. At first I thought it was a bit strange, but when I saw the team of Gamemakers during my training session- it didn't seem so weird anymore.

The Head Gamemaker is Iilvsea Crane, and though I don't watch much television- I've never really been a techie to be honest- even I know that Iilvsea is the granddaughter of Seneca Crane- the infamous 'sniper' Head Gamemaker who died late last year.  
I also know that she's done a few things herself, such as completely dismantle an anti-Hunger Games channel by calling the interview host out on all this horrible, illegal stuff he did and making the poor guy go catatonic as the seventeen year old girl completely destroyed his life on live air.

Seeing her in the flesh was... odd to say the least. On television you never really notice how inhuman celebrities look, because you're only seeing them on a screen. But in person Iilvsea Crane's face looks like it'll split clean in half because her smile stretches so crisply across her cheeks, and it's her natural smile.

-that's not even mentioning the _rest _of that team of Gamemakers. I'm not one for alterations myself, but that lot were... freaky. There was a dude with a _beak _for a nose, not to mention the man with ram horns made out of his hair.

"Did she say anything while you were in there?" I ask, doing my best to forget the imagery of that toucan nose. "They kept talking when I was there."

"...they didn't say anything... really..." Evon's eyebrows narrow. "They just laughed at me."

Ouch. Now I'm not that surprised she got a 3. That's pretty cruel of them.

"-what do you mean, 'really'?" Evon and I pause as Rimi looks down from behind her. "Did she say anything or didn't she?"

An odd quiet falls over Evon as both Rimi and I look at her, expectantly.  
Almost a minute passes by of Evon's eyes darting from point to point in the room- as if she's having difficulty just thinking about it. Then, she opens her mouth and says quickly-

"She didn't say anything."

...

Lie. So obvious a lie that it makes a knot in my stomach just hearing her say it.

"...I can hardly believe how that woman acted towards you Evon," Rimi mutters sourly, looking away. "Rude. Her grandfather must be rolling in his grave..."

-it's weird to hear Rimi talking like this, with her shattering her pristine image of being a bubbly, cheerful escort by scorning Iilvsea Crane like that. Though, it's also sort of nice- knowing she cares enough about Evon that she'll hate a woman for treating her poorly.

"Just as long as we don't have to see her again, I'll be fine..." Evon sighs, pushing her hands against the table to stand herself up. "I think I'll go to bed..."

'-Boy, I sure hate to be the bringer of bad news-"

By the doorway, Dalton folds his arms and looks at us with an unpleasant sort of grimace of a smile. Rimi folds her arms as well, suddenly stern.

"What?" Her voice is sharp, and so unlike that on the stage of Sector 10. "What's happened Dalton? What else bad could _possibly _happen to us that hasn't happened already?"

I can almost feel Evon wincing from the sound of Rimi's voice.

Dalton chuckles under his breath. "Haha, ease off Rimi... I just mean bad in the way of not seeing the dear Iilvsea again..."

Evon stiffens in her chair and blurts out- "What?"

"You'll be seeing her again tomorrow kids, get your battle faces on," Dalton puts his hands up and grins coolly. "-And your best dress, because the Capitol has decided that- since they love their children so much- they want to send you out with a nice- big- _party_."

...

The only sound that can describe what this party means to us is the noise Evon squeaks out which sounds like a mouse being stamped on.

And yet Dalton grins like it's Christmas Eve.

"I can hardly _wait._"

**

* * *

**

_Sapphire Emril; 13 years; the Capitol Sector 12._

"A party? Why on earth would they throw a party? They're _killing children_-!"

I've been holding it in all this time. Biting my tongue and swallowing what I wanted to say. But- hearing that those Gamemakers has the gall to try and _celebrate _the games killing Capitol children was the last straw.  
Now, staring across the room at the startled Vee and Nikolai- I let it all out in one fuming ball of hatred.

"You've _got _to be freaking kidding me!" I scream, grabbing my chair and kicking it onto its back. "-we're going to be killed- and you want us to _freaking celebrate it?_"

"Sapphire-!" Vee begins frantically, stepping forwards. "Please-!"

But I grab another chair and throw it down in front of her- backing away as I breathe heavily through my mouth- putting as much distance between me and these bastards as possible. Nikolai, our mentor pushing fifty, sternly steps forwards to me, picks up the chair that I threw down in front of Vee and sets it back up; all while keeping his eyes on me.

I hate him. And I hate her. I hate Julian, and the stylists- and everyone involved in this. I hate them all! These Games wouldn't happen if there weren't people to operate them.

"-do you understand this at all?" I breathe, beginning to shake. "How _wrong _this all is-?"

"It's just a party kid-" Nikolai begins gruffly.

These words only piss me off further.

"_Just _a party? It's a celebration of mass murder!" I shriek, stamping my foot against the ground. "We're the Capitol- I thought we had a sense of morality! No one would partake in a celebration of death- no one-!"

"They've been doing it for years!" Nikolai suddenly snaps, gripping hard onto the chair. "And you only care about it now because you're finally involved in it now!"

I feel my entire body quake with anger. "WHAT THE HELL WOULD YOU KNOW BASTARD? Just because you won by murdering others-!"

-And before the words have even left my mouth- Vee's fist collides into the side of my face.

There are shouts, but I don't recognise what's going on for a few seconds. My cheek is stinging, and there's a horrible pounding feeling inside my head as I stare up in shock at the suddenly furious escort. Nikolai still looks stern, and I can hear Julian's footsteps from behind backing towards the door.  
Vee looks down at me, her eyes blazing. My mouth sags open in shock as the woman furls and unfurls her fists- raring to punch me again.

"Don't you _dare _talk to him that way," Vee spits through clenched teeth. "Do you have a damn clue what he went through? Any _damn _idea? Why don't you shut the hell up-!"

"Vee." Nikolai cuts in sternly. "Leave her be."

Not a sound is made throughout the room, except for the shaky breaths I try to regain. Vee doesn't take her eyes off me, and there's anger in there- the likes of which I've never seen before.  
The woman who had been so mindlessly cheery during the reaping has suddenly been replaced by this violent person I can barely recognise.

"...she has no right..." The woman breathes, looking down at me on the floor. "...this brat has no right... what you went through... she- she thinks she can-!"

She moves so quickly that I can't help but fling my arms over my face to protect myself from another punch- but Nikolai holds the woman back. When I finally unshield my eyes- the escort looks like she is on the verge of tears as she clings to the District 12 mentor for support.

"...Sapphire..." I flinch at Nikolai's voice. "I think you should go to bed."

It's not really a suggestion. I scramble quietly to my feet, my face still smarting from the blow- still petrified at what had just happened to me, and when I close the door behind me and stare at the opposite wall in shock- I still can hardly recognise what's happened.

...I was just punched in the face by a District escort.

"...you're a horrible person, you know that?"

The sound of Julian's voice sends me jumping back into a potted plant, which just barely stays upright. He stares at me blankly, with this morose expression I haven't seen him wear the entire time we've been together.

"What?" I whisper, disbelieving. "-_I'm _a horrible-?"

"Yes." He states plainly, unblinking. "What you just did in there was unforgivable."

I can't speak. My voice is jammed in my throat like a rusted cog.

Julian looks towards the dining room door. "...you called Nikolai... the winner of the eighty-eighth Hunger Games a murderer... do you have any idea about what happened to him?"

Nothing comes out of my mouth. I've never watched the eighty-eighth Games. I thought no one had. It was so many years ago, a forgotten year. There were so many...

"...have you... looked at his legs...?"

Swallowing, I manage to croak out- "No... he always wears pants..."

Clenching his jaw, Julian wrenches his eyes away from the door and stares at me with flashing eyes.

"He's missing _both_."

-Julian's words hit me like a gunshot.

"-why?" I breathe, stepping forwards from the pot plant. "What happened in his Games-? Why does he have no-?"

"He cut them off to feed his allies."

...

And... suddenly... I feel very sick...

"...h-how... h-how did he...?"

"How did he _win_?" Julian laughs, but it's a quiet- broken one. "...his allies loved him... he gave up his legs for them... to keep them all from starving to death... they hid him away in a cave and went hunting... and they were killed... and he just... stayed in that cave..."

...until the last one fell.

"...and you just called him a _murderer_ Sapphire." Julian's dark look fills me with guilt. "That man... he's a million times the person you'll ever be..."

Without another word, Julian stares at me for a few more seconds as the information sinks in- and then turns and walks away. All I do is stand there, feeling shocked, hurt and incredibly disgusted with myself. I'm curious when Julian became this person who cared about others... but that's just a small question compared to the other that's finally been uncovered within me.

...when did I ever think... that I deserved to live?

**

* * *

**

**Any feedback is very much appreciated on my part. And, as it seems to be the custom with these types of stories, I'll list the training scores here for you to muse over-**

**S1, Liotta McKensie: 4.  
S1, Jason Blackheath: 10.**

**S2, Natalia Marinos: 6.  
S2, Marshall Matthews: 11.**

**S3, Francesca von Bardot: 6.  
S3, Holland Wickbird: 4.**

**S4, Minerva Nanaia: 7.  
S4, Vinel Greggorus: 10.**

**S5, Ari Saint-Claire: 5.  
S5, Laco Sykora: 5.**

**S6, Faye-Anna Cholores: 3.  
S6, Brandit Gailer: 8.**

**S7, Galaxy Jones: 4.  
S7, Ferroh Axum: 10.**

**S8, Koriana Wilder: 6.  
S8, Diego "D": 9.**

**S9, Britney Frailer: 4.  
S9, Montserrat Saint-Phillipe: 7.**

**S10, Evon Sanhorn: 3.  
S10, Jasse Harridan: 9.**

**S11, Cotton Ferier: 8.  
S11, Vince Pace: 2.**

**S12, Sapphire Emril: 4.  
S12, Julian Farraday: 9.**

**Capitol Question #009; were the scores what you expected them to be?**


	35. Join the Party

**A Vivid Note: **So we're here, at the promised "party". I was stricken with the idea because of the Quarter Quell party in 'Catching Fire', and also because- as this _is _the Capitol- they'd be unwilling to send off their own without some sort of treat.  
I forgot to mention earlier... you're being introduced to characters left and right. Gamemakers, Capitol citizens- even foreshadowing future tributes... _Tour de Force_, keep an eye out. Someone's sister has infiltrated the party...

Another song in this one, courtesy of Natalia, and I swear- these aren't becoming a regular thing, they're important because Ari is a singer- and therefore, songs are needed. It's a paraphrased English rendition of 'Houkiboshi' (_Japanese for 'comet', apparently_) which I believed suited Natalia very well. YouTube it up should you wish to know what she sounds like in my head.

However, I don't plan on letting this party go without blood, tears and paranoia. I'm warning you, sweet reader, that with each chapter I become thirstier for the blood of these children I've spent so long writing. After all, I'm only taking such delicate care in making you love your character, hold them dearly, begin to believe in them- so I ultimately can _rip their lives away from you_ and shred them up... tear them up... rip them up- _forever_... ahaha... and then what will _you _do? Or... what will _I do_...? HahahahAHAHAHAHAHAHA-!

...

**Capitol Question #010; if you were a Capitol citizen, would you protest heavily against this Quell?**

...,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Sapphire Emril; 13 years; the Capitol Sector 12._

They spent hours coaching me on tonight; how to move, how to smile, how to talk- everything down to the way I should hold myself. It was such a strain just to listen to- let alone try and remember.

I still feel awful for last night. Almost twenty-four hours later and every time I look at Nikolai a lump sort of wriggles uncomfortably in my stomach until he or I leaves the room. I almost felt like wisting for those past days of training where I only saw the 54 year old man at meal times.  
How was I supposed to know how his Games went? I know that I shouldn't have mouthed off like that... but most past winners are... well they're not good people. Everyone knows that.

-And here I am, in a room full of basically all of them, expected to mix and mingle in order to raise my chances of garnering the upper class' vote. _Joy_.  
I'm surprised I even fit in here, but I guess those teams of stylists were hired for a reason. They've put me in this black silk frill dress which flutters out in many tiered layers around my chest and hem, which I guess is meant to give the illusion of breasts. I'd say they were sick to try, but when I caught sight of myself in the mirror- I was stunned at how pretty I looked.

It made up for the fact they dyed my hair black and cut it off to my chin. I'm going to miss those final two inches.

"Remember you two," Vee says as Julian and I walk in between her and Nikolai. "Talk to as many people as you can. If you can't find someone to talk to- come to me or Nikolai and we'll introduce you. Work the room. You want to stand out more than the other tributes."

-So basically, pimp ourselves out for attention. I can already tell that tonight is going to be a complete failure. I don't want to talk to these snooty Capitol snobs. In regular circumstances they'd never want to talk to me either- a girl who regularly finds herself falling asleep in park slides- but when my life is on the line on live television, suddenly I'm interesting.

Julian is _completely_ in his element. No sooner has Vee given us the signal that we're allowed to move out on our own- he's schmoozing up next to some middle-aged woman, taking her hand in his and smirking like the sleaze he can be. I still don't know how he could be so serious yesterday when the normal him is such a slime ball.  
The stylists had more fun with him than they did with me. He's wearing a purple button up shirt which looks like it's made of satin- but of course he's only done up the bottom four buttons and his chest is on full display. Not that the woman appears to mind, running her fingers over his collar and... oh god... oh sweet god, she's touching his chest- she's _touching his chest-_!

This is seriously so wrong. This is what they want to do with us tributes before we die? Feel us up? I suddenly wish I was still wearing the jeans and t-shirt I always wore so no guy would bother me. If anyone hits on me tonight I swear I'm going to castrate someone.

Vee touches me lightly on the shoulder, which makes me flinch. "Behave Sapphire."

Saying anything would be the equivalent of fighting back, and I really don't want to egg this woman on; just thinking about her punching me yesterday makes my cheek bone ache from remembering. So I quickly nod my head and hurry off, weaving in and out of the crowd in search of Liotta or Faye-Anna.

-I really want to talk to them about what they did in front of the Gamemakers yesterday. After all, I threw a couple of axes and managed to hit the target twice- and I got a 4, and Liotta has a 4 as well. Perhaps I shouldn't ask though, because Faye-Anna only got 3- and Vince... well he got a 2. That's the lowest out of all of the scores.

Not that I expected them to do much better. We're the underdogs for a reason. People _expect _us to die- including me. Well, I don't expect _me_ to die... I sort of don't want to- but looking at the other three, I don't really see any of them doing too well.

As I walk the room, scouring for any of my friends- I catch sight of several other tributes hitting it off with the other party goers. Vince's Sector partner, Cotton, is chattering away to a woman- a champagne glass in her gloved hand. She's giggling, and I can see that quite a bit of the stuff has already splashed down the front of her elegant turquoise gown.  
-they've dyed her hair platinum blonde. I suppose they didn't like all the streaks offsetting the color scheme...

"-Sapphire!"

My heart exhales in relief as Liotta hugs me tightly as I turn around. We both smile at one another- understanding how uncomfortable the other feels- and I take a few moments to take in the beige ball gown they've dressed Liotta in- and fluffed her wings up with smattering of freckled pink feathers.

"You look really nice," I say in a hollow sort of way- since I'm not used to complimenting people. I usually hung out with guys back home. "Um, want to find a wall to stand by?"

Liotta smiles ruefully. "Yes, a lot."

We quickly find a nice quiet spot on the edge of the party, away from all the chattering guests and few mingling tributes- and we wait for Faye-Anna and Vince to appear. Liotta beats me to the question of what we did for training, and after I've told her about the throwing axes- she suddenly looks really saddened.

"...Sapphire I did a really stupid thing in there."

I raise an eyebrow, not sure what to think as Liotta bunches her hands up in her dress, unable to look me in the eye as she mumbles-

"-I threw a knife at the Gamemakers."

It happens before I can help it- a loud blast of a laugh. Liotta looks mortified as I clamp my hand to my mouth, still sort of grinning as the party goes on around us- completely unfazed.

"Way to go you little devil," I whisper excitedly, lightly punching her in the shoulder. "I didn't know you had it in you!"

"Yes, well..." Liotta suddenly looks very bashful. "...there was a barrier; they didn't get hit or anything..."

"Who cares? You took a stand, and I'm proud of you." My smile softens as I glance about us. "...something happened to me yesterday, but... I'm not sure I'm willing to talk about it yet."

Liotta looks puzzled. "What happened?"

And as I open my mouth to explain my first instance of getting punched in the face- a sharp hand clasps over my shoulder- and I'm turned face to face with an unnaturally smiling Vee- beckoning to the party behind her.

"Come Sapphire, there are some people I'd like you to meet."

But _'Get away from your competition; you're here to get sponsors, not chit-chat._' Is what I really hear.

Looking over at Liotta, I sort of mouth 'I'll tell you later', as Vee not so gently guides me into the crowd towards a group of men and women- all of whom meet me with smiles so plastic it's like staring into a tank full of sharks.

It's going to be a long, painful night.

**

* * *

**

_Jason Blackheath; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 1._

"So Jason darling, how are your shoulders? Do they hurt much~?"

I hate Antony. Of all the people he chooses to force me into talking with, he chooses the Head Gamemaker- Iilvsea Crane. If I were in the training room I'd grab something blunt to bash his overgrown ego in.  
To answer, I give a breathy sort of laugh Mona and Antony coached me on. It's painfully fake and makes me feel like my lungs are shrivelled up- but Iilvsea doesn't seem to care one way or the other. She just stares at me smiling blankly, waiting for me to answer.

"No, it's not that bad," I say blithely, waving a hand over my shoulder and feeling the pang of movement sear up my neck. "Otherwise I wouldn't be here tonight, would I?"

-it's awful trying to lie to this girl. It must be why Antony immediately sought her out for me to talk to- so I'd be tortured like he wants. After all the drama of the training sessions- being in Emergency overnight and having Mona scream at me for endangering my life- I was told that tonight, should anyone ask where my wings had gone- I was to reply 'oh they were always temporary ones', and not tell them truth- that being 'I ripped them out with my bare hands'.

Though, I think if I were allowed to tell the truth, I'd probably impress a lot more people.

"You really shouldn't lie you know," Iilvsea clucks quietly, her lips curling into a cruel smile. "I saw you bleed out over the floor. It would've been _very _painful Jason darling."

I hate how she says 'darling' like that. When a grandmother or a girl you like says darling, it makes you feel loved and warm inside. When Iilvsea says it- it's like being taunted.  
I'd give anything not to be talking to her. Knowing she's Head Gamemaker just seems to make me hate her more. From her obnoxiously long blue hair to her poufy black dress- I just want all of it away from me. Particularly when she seems to be able to see without really opening her eyes wider than a crack- it's like she's _always_ glaring.

"Oh, I'm not lying," I lie, doing my best to smile. It hurts so bad I just close my eyes and grimace. "It's not that painful at all-"

Without warning- Iilvsea slips her arms around my shoulders and presses her fingers into the wound. I let out a yowl of pain- which she covers with a breathy laugh of her own.

"See darling? Painful." She retracts her hands to the top of my shoulders, running a thumb along my jaw line. "But I can see why you'd lie. We're all liars here after all."

"...can you... maybe not touch me so closely?" I grit my teeth, doing my best not to lash out. "I'm a tad uncomfortable."

Iilvsea giggles in a very fake way. "Oh darling, you think I'd actually go for you? Blue haired boys really aren't my type... besides, I'm _very_ sure you should die a virgin. It's what Amethyst would want, _right_?"

The sound of Amethyst's name sends me recoiling away in alarm.

"How do you-?"

But I don't even bother asking. That sly grin on her face answers everything without her needing to talk. Iilvsea Crane, being the absolute witch she is, apparently knows everything.

I just hope these bastards or the media didn't do anything to Amethyst because of me... I'd never be able to forgive myself if she suffered because of me.

"Miss Crane!"

Iilvsea's arms draw away from me as she turns to face the pair of twin Gamemakers- both of which look barely older than her. One has black hair, and the other has a slightly lighter shade of dark grey. Other than that, no differences. I can remember them from my training session- and how when I gripped the bone of the wing they had both smiled like maniacal lunatics.  
With identical expressions of boredom, the two of them move in perfect synchronisation as they hold their hands out flat at shoulder length, sighing in unison.

"There are gate crashers," One says snidely, tilting his head left. "A group of protesters."

"They're being a pain," The other continues, tilting his head right. "They insist on seeing you."

"Oh dear," Iilvsea's face falls, her smile shrinking into a pout. "I was hoping not to do this tonight. Will you please accompany me?"

The two men smirk coolly, and answer again in perfect sync- "Like we'd let you have the fun Boss."

Boss? God these guys _are _freaks. I mean, even by Capitol standards. But they've managed to take Iilvsea away from me- though not without her flashing me one final cruel smile- so I guess I'm a little thankful. Though I guess I should be more pleased about the protesters than her... 'underlings'.

As I watch her disappear, I can also see Mona dragging a petrified looking Liotta towards another Gamemaker- the one with the ram horns. Thinking it'd be better _not _to be seen and brought into the conversation- I quickly turn to leave- only to find a jeering Antony grinning in my face.

His smile isn't much better that Iilvsea's.

"Isn't the little Crane a riot?" When he talks, I feel like I could count each of his teeth if I wanted to. "You'd never believe she's a little murdering machine, would ya?"

"Obviously," I snort, walking around him as the twenty year old follows me. "Murdering is part of a Gamemakers job."

Antony laughs in derision. "Oh I'm not talking about killing tributes with buttons kid, I'm talking about _face to face _murdering- you know- the kind you and I are more accustomed to."

"-_what_?" I whirl around, furious. "I haven't killed _anyone _you bastard-"

"Oh but you will," Antony's eyes bulge as he raises his eyebrows. "I can just tell kiddo, you're going to _slaughter _these idiots. Trust me- I can pick 'em. All you need is a little confidence-"

"Do me a favour?" I hiss angrily. "Leave me _alone_."

Thankfully, the District 1 victor doesn't persist- and holds his hands up in defence and walks away, whistling. Though I'm left with the feeling of wanting to throttle him- I distract myself by watching the others around me. I can see the guys from 8 and 9 talking to some businessman-looking type – and the girl from 3, Francesca I think her name is- has her arm linked with her Sector partner's- smiling happily as she takes some finger sandwiches from a waiter as the boy looks a little overwhelmed.

I wonder if anyone else here has been forced to face the Crane... or if their mentors are half as horrible as Antony. And if so, I'd kill to trade- because half as horrible is better than _just _as horrible.

How do winners turn out this way? Do all tributes that make it out of their arenas go insane with permanent bloodlust or some sort of substance addiction? Because if that's the case, I guess my life is screwed from here on out.

I wonder how Amethyst is going right now... and what she's doing as I stand here in the middle of this awful, gaudy room. She was always the type of girl who'd go to bed quite early so she'd be able to wake up early and call me... so the first person I talked to each day would always be her...

... I really miss her. Having Iilvsea talk about her like that just reminded me that there was still so much I wanted to experience with her... and I might never be able to see her again...

...Man... I am _really_ starting to hate this party...

My shoulders ache stubbornly, and I sigh in order to hold back the urge to groan.

I don't know if I'll be able to last this.

**

* * *

**

_Evon Sanhorn; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 10._

I don't know what Dalton is thinking, expecting me to be able to actually _impress _this crowd of Hunger Games fanatics. Whenever I catch someone's eye, be they another tribute or a middle-aged patron- they quickly look away again.

Having my hands burned off has made me socially poisonous apparently.

Rimi was sympathetic to me today. She taught me how to walk in high heels- something I hadn't ever done before surprisingly- and the whole time she kept complimenting me, trying to make me feel comfortable with this whole party.  
The stylists did a good job. They've cut my hair evenly and given me a block fringe- which I didn't mind- but then they gave me red eye contacts to match the dress I'd wear, which make me look... well sort of demonic, honestly.

"Like it makes a difference," I mutter under my breath. "I could have horns sticking out of my head; they'd still think I was-"

-I only just manage to catch myself in the middle of muttering as a blonde woman walks past and watches me cautiously. Embarrassed and annoyed, I move closer towards the wall- and further away from this floor filled with party goers.  
Parties have never been something I enjoyed. Whenever my parents held one, it was always for some stupid reason- like New Years or hunting season- and it was always the same pretentious sort too; with cheese and wine and all this talk about nothing.

The difference between those parties and this one though is that I have no room to lock myself up in. I'm _stuck _in this party, with nothing to keep me company but my bludgeoned hands.

As I prop up a wall, I can see the bustling party slowly taking off into the beginnings of chaos that comes with these extravagant feasts. There are many men and women lining up around the banquet table- eating and eating, talking and laughing. Here and there I can see tributes among them, as well as mentors and escorts- all smiling and keeping up appearances.

They'll all be drunk before long- and that's when horrible things will happen.

-Jasse isn't over there. I don't know where he is currently, and I guess I shouldn't care. He's part of the 'Capitol-careers' – which is the probably the last group I should try and get involved in – since they'd see me as just another corpse, with these hands.

"Excuse me- are you the District 10 girl, Miss Sanhorn?"

Not expecting anyone to slur at me while I stand along the wall, I'm surprised to turn and find myself staring up at a successful looking man in his twenties looking down at me with his eyes sparkling.

"...I think it's meant to be 'Sector' 10..." I correct slowly, unsure of what to say. "...can I help you?"

When his eyes flash excitedly, I feel a chill up my spine. "What I should be asking, is if I can help _you_."

...this man is giving me a bad feeling. I really want to walk away, but my feet feel like they're stuck to the floor with cement- and this man is gazing at my bandaged hands- wrapped up like mittens- with an expression of pure delight.

"Is it true that the gun barrel exploding is what did this?" He asks, smiling wildly. "Charred the skin, destroyed the nerves-?"

"-I-I don't know-" I try to move away, but the man takes my bandaged hands in his and begins to press through the bandage, which I can barely feel. "Why a-are you-?"

This is weird. And definitely not a good kind of weird. The way he's inspecting me with that maniacal look in his eyes makes me feel really, really worried. Who is this man- and why is he-?

"I could fix these."

My eyes snap up towards his, and suddenly that gleam in his eyes is no longer frightening, but hopeful.

"You can call me Doctor Galen- I work at the Caduceus clinic," He continues to hold my bandaged hand, and raises it to his lips in a gentleman sort of way. "And I'm a surgeon. Usually plastic, but reconstructive surgery is... sort of a hobby of mine."

"-do you mean you could heal them?" I whisper frantically, no longer caring that he's holding my hand. "Wouldn't that be-?"

"Oh it's illegal for the _Gamemakers _to organise medical attention because of your new lack of status," Hearing Galen say this makes me cringe. So it's a well known thing after all. "-but if it was something endangering your life, they'd _have _to get a doctor in to stitch you up so you can go into the arena... and if that doctor did a little _too _good a job... there's nothing they can do now, is there?"

Hearing this makes my heart race- and my excitement is obvious because Dr. Galen begins to grin pleasantly, finally letting go of my hands.  
I know I didn't want my hands fixed after killing that man... but I don't want to die. Hearing Iilvsea say there was nothing they could do for me dashed my hopes of living... but now...

I swallow, and look up at Dr. Galen meekly.

"-what do I do?"

A smile pulls his face taut like a crocodile's, and he turns away from me as if to leave- but, I can hear him whisper quietly-

"After the toasts and towards midnight, 'collapse' near the balcony. I will take care of the rest."

And with that, the doctor leaves- his clean suit tails wafting after him gently. My heart is still pounding inside my chest, and my right hand is tingling where he had pressed his fingers into it so gently before.  
...I don't know why he wants to fix my hands... but I don't care. It seemed to be like he wanted a challenge, and that my hands were exactly what he was looking for...

-Hell, right now I don't care if he messes them up more. Nothing risked, nothing gained- right?

...then again, the last gamble I took was the one that took away my hands... and that peacekeeper's life...

"Evon, who were you just talking to?"

"Ah- Jasse?" I double away in surprise at seeing him so close to me without hearing him approach. "Where did you come from?"

"-who were you just talking to?" He repeats slowly, staring in the direction where Doctor Galen disappeared.

"No one." I blurt quickly, only to see Jasse's expression harden. "Uh, I mean- some doctor telling me that my hands shouldn't hold me back... that's all, ahaha, j-just some guy... pitying me... you know... Eheh..."

I'm a horrible liar. I used to be a fantastic one, but somehow- since that day- I've lost that skill. Jasse doesn't look the least bit convinced, and before I can properly excuse myself- he puts a hand on my shoulder.

"I know I'm part of the careers Evon, but I'm not going to target you," Jasse looks at me seriously. "So please, don't get caught up with these men and women. They're... they're sort of shady."

The pure nerve of him saying this irks me, but Jasse Harridan walks away too quickly for me to call him out on it. Instead, I continue to stand by the wall in silence- eyeing the ornamental clock on the wall as its golden, curled hands tick slowly around its surface.

Eight-fifteen.

...I breathe in deeply.

Still some time for me to wait.

**

* * *

**

_Holland Wickbird; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 3._

"Chess, are you feeling alright?" I shift my arm uncomfortably around hers. "You're walking a little... funny."

It's been an hour since Lilia and Ava abandoned us to fend for ourselves amongst the rest of the room. Though a few people have talked to us, generally to compliment us on the 'excellent' chariot ride and how cute we are together- which is still making me feel a bit red in the face- we've mostly been alone, with me occasionally taking a sip of champagne and Francesca downing every glass that touches her hand, and eating well more than her stomach's worth of food.

"Oh I'm _fine_," Chess says happily, giving my arm a squeeze. "I just _love _parties though, don't you? I feel like it's been _forever _since I last went to one..."

She trips a little in her high heels, spilling a little of her drink onto her toes. Squealing slightly, she holds the glass out at arm's length and scrunches her face up in annoyance. It's hard not to laugh- especially when there are nearby party goers openly giggling at Chess's behaviour- but I'm too concerned about her to do that.

"I want something to eat," She says after a minute of silent pouting. "C'mon Holly, there was some _really _good looking cake over there-"

Forcefully setting her empty glass on the nearby table, she unlinks her arm and grabs my right hand in her left, pulling me along behind her as we go in search of the 'good looking cake'.

"Do you like parties Holly~?" Chess swings our arms in that couple-y kind of way.

"Y-Yeah..." When she turns those large eyes on me, I begin to fidget nervously. "T-They're okay... though this is my first one..."

Chess stops dead in her tracks, turning to me with a horrified expression. "Oh my god, you're joking right? You're a party virgin?"

"Uh-" Without warning, the girl grabs my cheeks and begins to pull- making it hard to talk "_I guesh sho_?"

Letting go, Chess puts her hands to her face and begins to shake her head from side to side. "Awww, Holly you're too cute! But I'm so happy! This means I got to be here when your party cherry pops! Hehe, you know~!"

All the sexual party innuendoes are making my heart flutter. Even as Chess turns around and shouts in delight- apparently she found the cake- all I can think about is how much fun it is to be around her.  
Francesca, though she was in my class, was always one of those girls I wanted to talk to- but I didn't have the nerve. It wasn't that she was so popular or too pretty that it was daunting... it was just she was so... bubbly. I guess I just felt like a loser in comparison.

"Holly!" Chess turns around, holding out a piece of cake in a napkin. "Eat this!"

"Uh, sure," I laugh weakly, reaching forward to take the cake- but Chess holds it above her head and out of my reach. "...hey, I can't eat it if you do that-!"

There's a very definitely flush in Chess's cheeks as she grins eagerly at me. "No no, I want to _feed_ you with it! Say 'ahh!'"

My jaw drops.

"Eh?"

Chess giggles like a maniac. "Come on, come on- it'll be so much fun! Let me feed you the cake- come on- _open up~_!"

It'd be so easy just to open up my mouth and enjoy this moment- I'd be a massive liar if I said I didn't want to- but there are people all around, and though I don't know if they're looking- I don't want to take advantage of Chess when she's clearly not in the best frame of mind.

"M-Maybe another time...?" I suggest weakly, trying to smile as she continues to hold the cake over her head. "I mean... it wouldn't be good if we messed up our... well our stylist will kill us if we got cake on our... you know..."

This doesn't amuse Chess. In fact, her smile disappears as she looks me up and down- focusing on my silver tie and my freshly dyed light purple hair. Her arm tenses, and I see a familiar flash of mischief behind her eyes.

-And the cake is brought down too quickly for me to even think of dodging.

"WAIT- CHESS DON'T-!"

But it's too late to stop her. Throwing her arm downwards- cake smears thickly down across my face- causing me to shout out as Chess screams with laughter, gripping onto the front of my ruined suit jacket for support.  
Everyone turns to watch as I try to contain my own laughter through a groan- but it's too hard not to. Chess looks up at me, smiling like she's having the time of her life- and I can't help but grin back at her.

"Thanks Chess," I laugh putting my hands on her shoulders and holding her steady. "You were right, this tastes great."

"Really?" She giggles, still clinging to me. "Let me taste~!"

Without warning, she stands up on tiptoe and leans into my face, drawing her soft tongue across my cheek. I can feel my cheek tingling as my entire body goes numb with shock. Chess pulls away- still giggling- and she smacks her lips, savouring its taste.

"It's yummy!" She sings, closing her eyes and continuing to giggle. "Aren't you happy~?"

My face feels like it's on fire. Stammering, I try to answer her- but all I can think about is how warm her tongue felt against the skin of my face.

"You're amazing Holly~!" Chess wraps her arms around my shoulders and laughs louder. "You're making all this so much fun, even when it shouldn't be!"

Are people looking at us? I can't bring myself to look anywhere except Chess, who continues to tremble and jitter with barely contained laughter. Her short, curled purple hair still clings to the sticky icing on my jacket- and her eyes are sparkling with tears of laughter.

Did she... always shine this brightly?

"Chess... I think..." The smile on my face trembles as she turns to look at me, smiling happily. "...I think you shouldn't have any more to drink, okay?"

"Oh you party pooper," Pulling away from me, Chess pokes her tongue out defiantly. "I can drink whatever I like, 'cause you'll hold my hair back if I get sick- _right~?_"

...

I know that she's drunk. That everything that has happened now has been because of all that champagne and liquor she had. The alcohol is why she's being so flirty and giggly with me.

...

...but... that doesn't mean... that I can't enjoy it.

Smiling- I reach over at the table and pick up a glass of champagne for myself, which makes Chess's eyes sparkle with delight.

"I'll always be there to hold your hair back Chess."

"Awww, yay!"

**

* * *

**

_Diego "D"; 18 years; the Capitol Sector 8._

I've learned something odd tonight, and I don't know whether or not to be proud of this- because honestly, it disturbs me quite a bit.

Apparently I'm 'sexy'.

-At least, that's what I've been told by a group of women who prised me away from my mentor Corbin. They spent the better half of an hour fawning over me, explaining that they were going to sponsor me 'to the finish'- and one of them asked, 'if I had time', that she would be willing to show me the inside of a broom closet outside.

I have watched television before, and I know what she was insinuating- but I cannot help but feel worried. If this is how I'm being treated, I feel concerned for the other tributes. Here and there I can see some of the younger ones, the girl from Sector 6 and the boy from Sector 11, being propositioned by men and women to 'go for walks' with them, only to be rescued by their mentor or escort at the last second.

No one rescued me. I had to tell the middle-aged women myself that I was not interested, and surprisingly that didn't dampen their spirits. They just... sighed happily and walked away- whispering.

Montserrat thinks it is very funny, while Marshall- the boy we found an alliance with on the last day of training- is having a difficult time dealing with it all.

"It's sort of sick," Marshall growls under his breath, taking a bite out of a biscuit tray he stole for himself. "It's been about an hour since we arrived and I've been asked by three women and two men to sleep with them. I mean, shit, I'm fourteen. What the hell?"

"-at least you have your age to hide behind man," Montserrat smiles dully. "Apparently being eighteen means I can't reject anyone on the grounds of age. I think I made that full grown man cry before."

At that, Marshall snorts and begins to laugh- which causes Montserrat to laugh as well. I do not join in, but I feel a little more at ease around these two than I would be alone. Something about Monty calms me, and Marshall has a quality that makes me feel sort of comfortable.

"I'm still glad they threw this thing," Marshall says after a few minutes of silent smirks. "Sort of nice. I've never liked parties before now, have you?"

I shrug. "I have never been to a party before."

This makes Marshall and Montserrat both exchange a look and smile again.

"I keep forgetting how detached you were D," Marshall has taken to calling me this- since he found out I had no last name. "Though, I'm a little envious. At least you never had to put up with being beaten up by your father."

"I suppose so." I reply simply.

There's no real reason to say anything else. I know Marshall has a sore point with his Father. It is even printed in the tribute booklet that they do not get along.

"I've never been a big fan of parties," Montserrat admits, looking over at me. "They just sap away energy I could use at home on weights. You know?"

I do not really, but I nod. It's highly likely that they both know I'm just trying not to be too involved in the conversation, as talking has never been a strong point of mine.  
Really what I'd like to do is take a look around at the influential men and women invited here tonight, though I do not really want to do so with Montserrat and Marshall in tow. As much as I appreciate them, and will strive to keep them alive in the days to come- there are still some things I will do alone.

"I am going for a moment," The pair looks at me, surprised. "We will meet up again later?"

Marshall grins a crafty smile. "Maybe. I wanted to ask if we were allowed to get up on that stage over there anyway."

He nods his head towards a stage set into the wall on the far side of the party. I had noticed it, but currently there is just an unused amplifier and a machine I assume is playing the upbeat music that pumps through the room.

What Marshall would like to do on stage eludes me, but I will not be asking what.

Nodding, I look at Montserrat. "Erm, 'later'."

I am not used to being so casual with my words just yet, but Montserrat grins and gives me an approving nod before I turn around and go on my way into the room- unsure of what exactly I'm looking for.

It would be easy to lose one's self in all this. Even I am feeling just a tad overwhelmed by the sheer number of people clamouring to move about the room. Many formally dressed men and women are chatting to mentors and escorts- and not so secretly exchanging money between them.  
Early sponsors, sending in gifts the moment the bloodbath is over. A risky move, seeing as the recipient could be dead before they touch the ground.

"-Excuse me-!"

Something flumps against my stomach, and I look down to see a head of fire-red hair wincing in pain. I politely step back and watch as the stranger staggers back and grimaces- rubbing her hair with her gloved hands.  
This woman is not at all dressed for this party. In fact, seeing her wearing tracksuit pants and a down jacket is such an odd sight I can feel the curiosity showing upon my face. Her skin is dyed pitch black, and when her brown eyes stare up at me angrily- it is almost amusing to see them flicker with recognition.

"Y-You're Diego from Sector 8!" Her mouth gapes a little, but she catches it quickly. "Oh I'm so sorry for running into you-!"

"It is not a problem," I assure her simply, bowing slightly. "You did not hurt me."

There's something in her eyes when she glances me up and down that somehow allows me to hear her think 'you're so huge, no way could I hurt you.'

I look at her, intrigued. "Why are you in such a hurry?"

"Ah, well, you see..." The woman's eyes dart quickly from side to side. She's not searching for a lie- rather, still on the lookout. "I've lost my friend... we came in here together and... well we had to split up."

Though it may be a hunch, I have a good idea who this woman might be.

"Would you be an anti-games protester by any chance?"

Her entire body goes rigid with fear, and I see her clasp her hands into her jacket before I force myself to smile in an attempt to put her at ease.

"It's alright," I say quietly, lowering my voice. "I am also against these games. I will not turn you in."

The woman relaxes at my words, and I see an expression of relief spread across her face as her shoulders fall to their normal position.

"...my name is Olive van der Bilt," She holds out her hand for me to shake, which I do courteously. "My friend's name is Sugar. She has dark brown hair and has these... pink flower tattoos on her cheeks... if you see her, can you tell her to come find me? I'm getting out of here before anything... _bad _can happen."

From the way her voice sounds, I am not exactly sure what she is expecting to occur- but I nod and watch as Olive the protester disappears into the crowd, still looking for her friend Sugar.  
I was not expecting protesters to be able to walk into this party, but I suppose it is impossible to keep them out. Still, it is a relief to know that there will be some appreciating my efforts to overturn these Games.

-I wonder, had I not been chosen for these Games, would I one day be infiltrating parties like that woman was?

Hm. I suppose I will never know.

**

* * *

**

_Ari Saint-Claire; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 5._

What I wouldn't give to be anonymous like the others. To not already have a fan following _before _being reaped. It would make tonight so much easier.

"Miss Saint-Claire, we were so devastated when we saw you up on that stage," one woman sighs, grasping my hand. "What were you feeling in that moment? Hurt? Betrayed?"

She sounds like an undercover interviewer. It wouldn't surprise me in the least if there's a tape recorder stuffed between those enormous breasts of hers. Though I try to pull my hand out of the way, I just end up backing into another fan standing right behind me, who takes the opportunity to push their hand right up against my butt-

Panicking, I try to get away from the wall of people on all sides. "-Ah, Laco-!"

Right on cue, he steps in. "-excuse me," I'm grabbed by the upper arm as Laco steps in for the fourth time tonight. "You're making her uncomfortable, so please leave her alone."

There's no way I can ever repay Laco for what he's done for me tonight. Every hateful glare he's been sent for saving me from the unsavoury hands of these party goers has been one hint after another that he won't have sponsors. He's basically sacrificing his potential sponsors just to keep me from feeling terrified this entire time.

"-Thank you-" I breathe frantically as he holds my hand, walking towards the nearest wall. "I-I just... even after all these years- I don't know how to deal with them..."

"Just be strong," Laco says simply, not looking at me. "You shouldn't let people push you around... including me if it comes to it."

"Haha, oh Laco," I smile, narrowing my eyes. "You said it before I could."

"I didn't want to give you the satisfaction on calling me out on it, okay?" Laco looks at me, and his serious expression softens into a smile. "Are you thirsty? I could get us something if you'd like."

"Oh... water would be fine," I smile back gratefully. "Again, thank you so much Laco..."

Laco smirks dully. "What are allies for?"

If all allies were this reliable, I'd wonder why anyone ever mutinies. My smile disappears little by little as Laco Sykora disappears from view, and I'm left standing all alone on the wall by the stage- waiting for the only person I trust in this entire room to come back.  
Ever since I heard him saying that he'd... 'make me win' to Natalia... that was when I knew he was serious. That night he explained how he felt- how he saw me as the last pure thing left in the Capitol... and not having much to live for himself, he wanted to... keep the Capitol beautiful.

-It sounds like garbage when I say it, but I almost wanted to cry when he did. It's the first time anyone has actually said that sort of thing and not followed it up with 'so you and me...'.

I haven't told him anything about Namer or what the tattoo on my ankle means, just about how I feel about being a pop idol and how much I want to get rid of all that. It was weird, finally telling someone- and having them _understand_. I always had the feeling that when I finally did, they'd tell me something horrid like 'oh poor you, little miss super star wants to be left alone'.

People like that... I hate them, just as much as they hate me. The fact they don't see past all the forced songs and gaudy make-up to who I am and who I want to be... it's excruciating, that's all.

"Ari, sweetheart! Long time no see!"

An awful feeing welts up in my gut that I usually associate with an urge to vomit.

It's Sorca. My agent, the woman who honed in on my final chance to admit everything to Dad, the woman I hate _most _in the entire world- Sorca.

_Why is she here_?

"Christ, getting clearance for this party was an absolute _nightmare_," She laughs, tucking her newly teal coloured hair behind her ear. "There's all this protest ruckus going on outside, dreadful- but it's lovely to see you again Ari."

"...what are you doing here?" I mutter angrily, balling my hands into fists.

Sorca seems to be able to ignore tones, and she smiles cheerily. "Oh I'm here on request, can't so who- all very hush-hush- but oh!" Her eyes dart towards the stage next to me. "Are you planning on singing Ari? Oh you absolutely must, you were weren't you?"

"Ari?"

As thankful as I am to see him, Laco- holding onto two glasses of water- can do nothing to stop this scene. People are already turning at the mention of my name and 'singing' – and, even as I mentally beg for everyone to lose interest, people begin to rabble excitedly for me to get onto the stage.

"I-I don't..." Sorca looks at me expectantly as I try to be confident. "I really..."

"She's not singing tonight."

It's not Laco who comes to my rescue. Looking up, I feel my gut wrench itself in a knot as the cool smirk of Natalia Marinos comes into my line of sight. She walks up to the stage, calmly steps onto it- and stares down at me with plain contempt.

"I've already claimed the first act," Natalia winks as Sorca stares up at her in wonder. "If you don't mind Ari?"

The sweetness in her voice is a clear mask for the poisonous feelings she still harbours for me from taking Laco away. Though I shouldn't, I feel very small in comparison as the entire party begins to quieten while Natalia grasps hold of a microphone set up for her- all while she continues to shoot superior smirks down at me.

She's trying to get to me.

"Hello everyone!" Natalia calls out, smiling out across the room. "I'm Natalia Marinos of Sector 2!"

There's a round of enthusiastic applause. I can hear a murmur of displeasure from Laco, as he stands behind me- still holding the water in his hands.  
Natalia is positively shining. The blue dress that clings to her curves sways slightly as she continues to command the crowd's attention.

"I'm not as great a singer as Ari Saint-Claire over here," She motions towards me, and I shrink into the wall. "But she doesn't feel like singing today... so how about I oblige you instead?"

More applause, as well as a few drunken hollers towards the other end of the room. It may just be wishful thinking- but I almost hear a male voice call out '_get off the stage!_'

"Alright! Just for you, I'll be singing 'Comet'... this is for all of you who are supporting us in the arena! This one is for you!"

And then- without warning- the lights of the stage all flare up at once, and I see that standing behind Natalia is a band- and with the thunderous sound of drums- the song begins and, with the crowd already screaming and jumping in approval- Natalia sings in a clear, beautiful voice that sends chills of disappointment up my spine.

_Looking up at the night sky alone, I saw a comet,  
though it appeared and vanished in the blink of an eye.  
When I think of you, my chest begins to hurt,  
I want to see you right now, but I can't fly through this sky-_

...she's good. Natalia Marinos can sing. I can feel the entire crowd beginning to chorus with a new love for the Sector 2 girl- her popular rising with each verse she belts out-

_If somehow I could have become a comet in that night sky,  
I would go flying through our sky, surely.  
I would definitely reach you, with this single flash of light,  
lighting up your present and passing through our sky,  
if I could have become your comet,  
I would surely stay by your side- at any time._

-as the song draws to a close, Natalia no longer has to sing. No one would hear her anyway, over all the cheering and screaming they're doing for her. My entire body has gone numb with shock, and as I stare up at her, I see her eyes flash down at me, her microphone still in her hand as she points past me and speaks into the microphone-

"The offer to join up still stands!"

Turning desperately to Laco, I see his face scrunch up in anger- and- over the chorusing cheers of cries of the crowd- yells-

"NOT WHILE I STILL STAND!"

...

We've made a real enemy... in Natalia Marinos.

**

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**

**Feedback makes me love you long time.**

**Capitol Question #010; if you were a Capitol citizen, would you protest heavily against this Quell?**


	36. As the Night Goes On

**A Vivid Note: **are you enjoying the festivities? Because we're not done yet with the night and now the pieces are _almost _lined up. As the master of this universe, I'm pleased with the way the events are unfolding before me. Are you excited...? Or are you scared...?

_**Some nice murdering done this chapter. So excited, so excited~! HAHAHAHA!**_

Thank you, by the way. Whenever I see that little [Review Alert] in my inbox I just beam from ear to ear. I've slowly come to recognise your names and the tones in which you write, and I take peeks at your stories to see what sort of styles you personally enjoy.  
I think that's why I wanted to write a story brought together with friends. I knew that it would bring me this level of happiness, deep down.

So thank you.

**Capitol Question #011; which character would you dance with formally were you to choose?**

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Faye-Anna Cholores; 14 years; the Capitol Sector 6._

After Natalia finished singing her song and the stage was taken over by a band I can't recognise, this whole party suddenly... sort of... got... a _lot_ drunker. Everyone is singing and dancing wildly- and even here on the wall I keep getting bumped into by anyone and everyone- all trying to get to different places at once.

It's dizzying to watch them all, so I keep my eyes trained on my drink. It's just water- since everything else seems to be alcohol in disguise- but it doesn't help me feel much better. My stomach is in tangles. I had wandered into the bathroom before all the singing started and witnessed a woman purging her guts up all over the floor.

I really hope they've cleaned that up, because I've been holding in a lot of water ever since then- and I don't know how much longer I can hold it in for.

Liotta and Sapphire were with me for a little while, but they kept being pulled away from me by their mentors and escorts- so we've sort of given up on reconvening. Vince hasn't even bothered to try and find us, so I'm guessing that he's been held up somewhere. Sienna and Baby told me to use the party time to relax while they sort out potential sponsors- they're still babying me because of last night- and Wezca... well Wezca he... he's become sort of a pillar to lean on these past few days. I'm glad he's my stylist.

Me- well, no one really shows much interest in the fourteen year old girl with bulimia. I've just been wandering about aimlessly for the past half hour.

There's no way I can win against the rest of them.

I scored a 3. Not really a great number to get, but what did I expect? The other tributes... apparently Capitol kids aren't as meek as I might have thought.

Jason, Liotta's partner- _tore out _his wings with his _bare. Hands_. How on Earth can I compete with someone who can willingly yank out what is essentially a small limb out of their back- and _continue standing_? Then there's Vinel, who I heard from Sapphire has been bragging that he was the one who smashed the weight clean through the camouflage table. I mean, is that even possible to smash a heavy table with just a _hand weight_?

-that's not even counting the rest. Here I can catch words of what the others did. Lances, bows and arrows, karate, throwing knives- these other kids from the Capitol... they're better than me...

Part of me wishes I were sportier rather than well read. What good will books do me in the arena? What, will I read some someone a bedtime story and kill them when they fall asleep? Even that joke makes me feel sick to my stomach.

Sighing, I look around the room for the hundredth time. What I really need right now is somewhere I can breathe freely and relax. If the restroom wasn't filled with vomit and giggling women, that'd be my first choice. The balcony seems to be filled with smokers- defeating the point entirely- and outside... is outside even an option...?

"...excuse me; can I talk to you for a moment?"

I don't recognise the voice. And when I turn around to see who it is- I feel my stomach lunge into my throat, and I almost drop my drink in alarm.

It's the guy from Sector 7. That huge black guy.

Ferroh Axum.

"W-W-What?" I double back into the wall, staring up into those blank brown eyes. "W-Why? H-Have I d-done something-?"

Calming down is an impossible option. Even when his face falls and he raises his hands to try and dissuade me from falling deeper into a panic, I just start breathing harder.  
Ferroh and I have exchanged no words up until this point. Sure, I admit I glanced at him possibly a few too many times because his skin color stood out, but I didn't mean any disrespect by it-!

"I... I don't want to upset you or anything," His voice is deep, but casual. "I mean... it's quite uh... out of the blue, I guess... but I wanted to ask if you'd ally up with me."

-!

This time I do drop my drink.

"Ah-!" Water splashes down my orange dress- and I barely have time to screech when the glass smashes against my foot and cuts into the skin. "Ah- ow! Ow!"

The wincing goes internal as I scream into my mouth- making a high pitched wail inside my throat. Ferroh's eyes go wide with shock and quickly ducks down before I can stop him- brushing the shards of glass off my foot- not caring for the cuts he's surely inflicting upon himself by doing so.

"I'm sorry-" Ferroh's face contorts with pain as he inspects my foot. "I shouldn't... I shouldn't even have asked- god, sorry-"

Through pressed teeth to ignore the stinging pain, I glance down at him. "W-Why on _Earth _would you want me-?"

Ferroh is quiet as he tries to pat the bleeding down with his hands to no results- but when he finally straightens up, he can't meet my eyes. Almost as if he's feeling embarrassed, I feel my chest begin to feel less tight as he says quietly-

"...I got a good feeling about you... you're the only one who hasn't stared at me like I'm some sort of lunatic..." He then glances up, his face morose. "...until now I guess."

My face goes red with embarrassment. "You scared me is all! Right now I'm feeling... well... I scored a 3... I'm feeling a bit... you know..."

As I trail off into profuse stuttering, Ferroh's shoulders sink back into a relaxed state and a trace of a smile forms across his face. I can feel my leg starting to quake under the shock of being injured, and as I slump against the wall Ferroh leans forwards and holds me up by my underarms.

"You're a fragile thing aren't you?"

A little sadly, I nod. Ferroh chuckles the smallest laugh as he lifts me off the ground entirely- seeming to draw pleasure from the horrified look I give him.

"Don't worry," He says, smiling. "I'm just gonna find you somewhere to sit. Unless you'd rather make this easier and let me piggyback you?"

...Is this really happening? Ferroh always seemed so standoffish- like- like a lone wolf or something. But this guy just offered me a piggy back ride because I cut my foot from dropping a glass! Are there two different Ferrohs or something?

There's no way to argue with him though. He sets me back on the ground and I clamber onto his back- unable to believe this is actually happening. The moment my arms are wrapped around his shoulders and his arms are supporting my legs- the entire room seems to take notice of the two of us and I'm met with several hundred adoring looks.

"Guess they think we're cute now." Ferroh mutters with a smirk. "What do you think?"

I really hope my face isn't still red. "I-I don't know what to think..."

For the first time in a few days, I think my brain has shut off entirely. It's almost been four minutes since I've remembered that I'm going to die in just a few days.

"Let's go find somewhere to fix you up, yeah?"

"Y-Yeah..."

...did fate just throw me a chance... in the form of Ferroh Axum?

**

* * *

**

_Ferroh Axum; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 7._

No one will believe me when I say that I want to protect this girl. 'He's using her for sponsor points' They'll all say. 'And he'll kill her off as soon as she loses her use.'

But that's not it at all. Sure, I know next to nothing about Faye-Anna except that she scares easy, doesn't look very healthy- and she reminds me just a little bit of Quinn with her quiet nature- but I wasn't lying about that good feeling. I know that if I keep her safe, then good things will happen.

...I guess she's what you'd call a morality pet, maybe. As long as I'm with her, I feel sort of... like I do back home, with my friends.

"Is this really okay?" Faye asks sheepishly, holding onto my shoulders tightly. "I-I don't know if we're allowed to leave the party like this..."

She's such a worrier this girl, it makes me smile. "We just need to find the medical station in the training centre, that's what Eden said."

I had asked Eden, Galaxy and my District mentor, what I should do with Faye-Anna with her foot cut up. It's not in a bad state, and could probably do with just a bandage- but Eden agreed with me that it should be disinfected. So she walked us out of the ballroom on the second floor- apparently right above the training centre- and sent us down the hallway to hail the elevator downstairs.

"Does it hurt much?"

"It stings a little... I hope they don't have to cut it off or something."

She giggles weakly, and I feel my lips twitch a little. Highly unlikely that it got infected, it was just water in her glass after all, but the thought isn't nice. As adorable as piggyback rides are to those potential sponsors in the room- I don't think I could keep this up for the entire Quell.

It's no issue reaching the elevator, but there's a bit of trouble pressing the button with my hands occupied holding Faye up. So Faye has to reach down- and we wobble for about a minute before she managed to hit the down button and for the elevator to slide down to collect us.

In the solitude of the elevator, Faye-Anna finally speaks again. "...were you... serious... when you said you wanted me as an ally?"

Since we're only moving between one floor, it's no surprise that the elevator dings before I answer her. But before stepping forwards, I merely nod in response.

"...but... I scored a 3..."

"I don't care what you scored," I cut her off blankly. "I scored a 10. That's more than enough for two people to share, isn't it?"

Faye is quiet, and the two of us reach the doors to the training centre. The medical station is built into the wall; because it's another one of the stations I guess. But when we reach the doors- almost instantly we realise that they're probably locked, and we've been sent down here without a key.

I look up at Faye, and she stares at the door confused. "Should we go back for the key?"

-But at the sound of her voice, the door creaks open... and there's a very definite chill hanging in the air as we stare forwards in silence to the darkness waiting inside.

"...guess it was already open..." I try to sound casual, but I'd be lying if I didn't say I was spooked. Doors that open themselves have never been something I enjoyed. "-come on-"

With my knee- I push the door open wide enough to enter, and with Faye clutching my shoulders as tightly as feasibly possible- we walk inside.

During training, it was easy to ignore the echo of your footsteps, your lance- the clanging noise of metal against metal. But when it's just you and the girl you're piggybacking- that echo seems a thousand times louder. Every step seems to mask a snicker, a shadow, a voice...

"-a-augh..."

Faye shrieks in fright and falls off my back, and in the pitch black of the room I whirl around find her again- but instantly she grabs onto my legs and begins to heave frantically as the low, gurgling moan fills the room.

_I didn't imagine that_.

My heart pounds in my chest as I hear footsteps from all around. "WHO'S THERE?"

And in an instant, the lights flicker on- and standing by the door is the pair of twin Gamemakers, one with his hand on the light panel- the other with his fingers clasped around the doorhandle.

"We didn't hear you come in." They chime cheerfully, tilting their heads towards one another. "Sneaky little things aren't you?"

Faye-Anna hiccoughs, but her hands don't leave my trouser leg. I don't like the smiles that seem to peel across the two men's faces. Steadying myself, I manage to hold the strong, steely expression I've been perfecting since I walked up onto that stage.

"...we're here for a bandage," I say blankly, gesturing down to Faye-Anna. "She cut her foot on some glass-"

I'm cut off as the two men tut disapprovingly. I flinch a little, disliking the mocking tone they have even now as they raise their hands up and shake their heads in perfect synchronisation.

"Then by all means," the two men open up their orange eyes and gleefully narrow them. "Go ahead~!"

These men are undeniably creepy. The idea of them being part of the Gamemaking team deciding our fates certainly doesn't settle my nerves any. Faye-Anna has gone completely stiff with fear, and it's a complete struggle just to turn around and try and step towards the medical station with her gripping onto me for dear life.

"Oh I'm sorry Ferroh darling, I'll be out of your way in just a moment~!"

The voice of Iilvsea Crane temporarily startles me, but my eyes only focus on her smiling face for a fraction of a second before they fall to the ground beside her.

Suddenly I know exactly why Faye-Anna is terrified.

Upon the ground it lays; trembling and pulsing- this unrecognisable lump of blood and flesh, heaving for air as it struggles in a puddle of muck. Instinctively I stumble backwards in horror, the heat rushing from my face as I hear the _thing _moan in pain. I watch as a stump that looks like a disfigured hand weakly claws out- splashing aimlessly in the puddle of black and blue sick...  
It's not a person. There's no way that pulsating mound of black and red remains could be a person. There is no way something like that could be _alive_-!

"Well?" I see Iilvsea beside the mass of tortured remnants place a hand on her hip, mocking impatience. "Didn't you say you needed a bandage for the little darling's foot?"

I can't speak. I can't even move out of this fear grappling me. It feels like my lungs are shrivelling up inside just from the sight of that- that _thing_. As it writhes I hear Faye-Anna beginning to dry retch on the ground at my feet; I fight hard not to do the same.

Seemingly oblivious to the mass on the ground, the Head Gamemaker pouts in annoyance. "Do you need me to get it for you? Tch," She shoots a slight smile towards the two male Gamemakers. "What lazy tribute we have! Ah well, it can't be helped I guess~!"

Without even flinching, Iilvsea Crane takes one short step over the shuddering figure and begins to dig about in the drawer that pulls neatly from the wall for a roll of bandage. Behind us are the sound of quiet snickering as the thing lying under Iilvsea begins to move slowly.  
Inhaling sharply I freeze- finally able to recognise the bloodied pulp as human as it rears its pulverised head from the pool of sick. My mouth fills with the vapour of vomit as the flat side faces towards me- unidentifiable black and red bulges staring out from the curtain of matted hair.

_It's... it's looking at me..._

"Here we are," Iilvsea calls out cheerfully, holding aloft the bandage roll. "Are you a good catch?"

As hard as I try- I can't open my mouth. Something inside tells me that if I open it there'll be no way to stop me from shouting in horror. But the oddly kind looking Iilvsea lobs the roll of bandages into the air anyway, and I only just manage to snap out of my panic and keep it from falling to the ground, which is still being covered by a heavily shaking Faye-Anna.

"Ah! What a good save! Bravo darling~!" squeals Iilvsea in delight, clapping her hands together. "Wasn't it a good catch Winn? Remy?"

It takes me a moment to realise that these must be the names of the creepy twins.

"Yes Boss."

A telltale creak from behind says that the doors have been open wide once again, and by the way Iilvsea is smiling blankly- with those forever half-closed eyes focused squarely on me- it's obvious that Faye-Anna and I won't be tolerated here much longer.

"Please enjoy the rest of the party Ferroh darling," Iilvsea curtsies daintily, holding the hem of her black dress gently. "You too, Faye-Anna sweetheart."

A hand grips my shoulder. Spinning to meet their eyes, I'm alarmed to see one of the twins staring me in the face with a maniacal grin. Sure enough, Faye-Anna is hoisted to her feet by the other- with such ease it would seem she weighs nothing at all.

Both of the men break into coy smiles. "Please enjoy the rest of the party~!"

Without another word- the two of us are steered outside. Once on the other side, I look back at Iilvsea- now blocking the monstrosity she had so coolly ignored with her legs. As my heart continues to race, I look from each of their faces- wanting, _needing _some sign that I didn't imagine that... that _thing_ on the ground...

But their smiles don't falter. The two twins exchange a smirk before bowing Faye-Anna and I out and gripping their doorhandles.

"Goodbye."

And as the door to the nightmare shuts, Faye-Anna loses the fight and vomits over the ground while I fight harder than I ever have before in my life against the instinctive urge to run and call for help. To scream over the pulp of a person that must still be shivering in there.

_Was all that really... real?_

**

* * *

**

_Minerva Nanaia; 18 years; the Capitol Sector 4._

At first the idea of this party completely irked me. After all, I didn't really have time to waste on a party. Tomorrow night I'll be sitting in an interview that could very well determine whether all of Panem will want to sponsor me or not. With something like that looming over me, how could I possibly think of using my time doing anything besides prepare?

That was before I began to enjoy the pleasant atmosphere of the party that I've never really experienced before now. The ambiance of everyone enjoying themselves; drinks in their hands, dancing, laughing and talking... I only wish I could've gone to more of these before my name was pulled.  
But I had always been so busy, too busy to party. Always writing, working, sketching, planning... it's a pity that the only time I've ever had to let loose is two days before my potential death.

It's also a pity I didn't get to spend it with Vidar.

I miss him, painfully. The ring on my finger is no longer a comfort, but a heavy weight reminding me what I stand to lose should I not survive these Games. Outside of this party, way back in the part of the Capitol now known as 'Sector 4' is the other ring, along with my Vidar.

He would've hated this party, I'm sure. Vidar always hated all examples of the Capitol's decadence- mainly because he and his family were so poor in comparison to the majority of the Capitol. I'm sure he'd say something about the elaborate paintings on the ceiling being pretentious- with their depictions of beautiful male and female characters wandering through a vibrant forest dressed in ball gowns completely inappropriate to explore in.

That's where Vidar and I are different. I actually like the Capitol's extravagance. When I gaze up at the sky of this room, I can almost see these people dancing in those magical woods. They remind me of an old tale about a dream which a girl wandered into and became lost in... only to awaken from her adventure with nothing to show for it.

...Wonderland.

Beauty like this is loved only in the Capitol. Show something like this to the Districts and they won't appreciate it in the same way. They have troubles, and see things like paintings and books as waste.  
That's why I never hated the Capitol. Even the Hunger Games I found happiness in, because it was the fruit of my parents' efforts. As Gamemakers they crafted the arena, the twists and turns... it was always beautiful.

_But..._

My parents are no longer Gamemakers, and I don't know why. With those seven Gamemakers I couldn't recognise standing around that table during my private training session- that was when I knew for certain something was wrong.  
My Father was Head-Gamemaker last I heard. Now, all of a sudden this 'Iilvsea Crane' girl is Head-Gamemaker, and my Father _and _my Mother are nowhere to be seen.

I want to know where they are, but the thought of asking any of the current Gamemakers gives me a really bad feeling that they would lie. But aside from them, no one else seems to know. Our Sector escort and mentor both couldn't tell me anything- and when I finally voiced my concern to Vinel earlier today, all he could do in response was shrug.

He's on the dance floor right now, supporting the giggling girl from Sector 11 who seems to be something along the lines of his girlfriend. As much as I think that it's ridiculous for people to try and delude themselves into finding love during something as awful as the Hunger Games- watching them makes my heart yearn for Vidar.  
Cotton looks beautiful. Her platinum blonde hair doesn't stand out too much in the rainbow of Capitol onlookers, but now that my attention is drawn to her I can see why Vinel picked her out of all the other girls. In training she seemed a bit... well, sparky- but she's part of the Capitol-career group that Natalia put together, so perhaps there's more to her than meets the eye.

I'd love to have someone distract me from reality, but I decided long ago that I needed no allies. I would do this alone- and not lean on anyone else in these Games. Last night was a moment of weakness, and though I appreciated Vinel's offer- I refuse to rely on it.

Although, it definitely improved my opinion of him. When I first met him, I was so sure he was just a boy ready to hit on any skirt that walked past. Though, that may be partly true- I can't see any other reason to be with Cotton, really- he also seems to have some sort of... goodness to him...

"Minerva?"

Snowflake was the last person I was expecting to see, but here she is, looking me oddly shy in the face as her hands clamp around something crisp and white. An envelope, I think.

Quick and to the point, the escort holds forth the letter for me to take. "This is addressed to you; it has a Gamemaker's seal- so it must be important."

The moment it leaves her hands, they sort of hover as I slowly examine the outside of the unknown message. I look up, and the woman continues to stare at me- probably wanting to know what the message is herself.  
Since I don't know what it could possibly be, I know none of the Gamemakers now after all; I nod to her, turn and walk away, ignoring the huff of disappointment that follows.

Once I'm safely away from prying eyes, I break the gold wax seal- a sort of delicately drawn HG, for 'Head-Gamemaker', obviously- and slowly pull out the contents. Under the light I can see one is some sort of diagram, so I reach for the paper with writing- which will hopefully give me some sort of explanation.

Unfolding it and squinting under the ballroom's lights, I read-

_Dearest Minerva,_

_ The Quarter Quell is out of my hands. We have been voted out of our positions on the Gamemakers team. Everyone has been replaced and removed. _

...this is...?

_Crane is a force to fear Minerva. I do not doubt for a moment that she will take her anger of me out on you inside that arena's circumference._

...Dad...?

_These Games are more than they want us to believe. They were an intentional mistake. It goes back further than we anticipated. It is out of even the President's hands now._

_It is fate that you were chosen. You can survive. Already you know the arena better than even the Gamemakers do. _

Heart racing, I begin to unfold the other piece of paper.

_God guide you Minerva. Be safe and return from the Games. This should never have been your battle to win. _

_ I am sorry._

Breathing hard- my eyes fall from my Father's apology, and focus on the map inked hastily in blue and black on the spare piece of parchment- torn from my Father's work book.

"...Oh my god..."

In the flash of an eye, I know it all. The forest, the lake, the caverns- it floods back to me as quickly as it had swum into my mind.

-this is my arena.

This is the first arena I mapped out as a child.

I ball the paper up tight in my fist as I try to steady my breathing before the rest of the room notices me.

...they're... they're using my arena?

**

* * *

**

_Montserrat Pierre de Saint-Phillipe; 18 years; the Capitol Sector 9._

There are several reasons I don't do party drugs, drink or smoke.

One, they don't help with my weight training. I've seen what performance enhancers do to guys. They turn into wife-beaters and coke-snorters, drunk on the fear that others have of them because of how bulked up they are.

Two, they waste energy and ruin your body. Teeth, eyes, and stamina- it screws them all up. For years I've been working hard to keep myself as healthy as I possibly could- which is a damn hard thing to do in a Capitol society.

Three, they_ just ruin your life_.

I meant what I said earlier to Diego. I've never been a big fan of parties. Whenever I was invited to one by the guys on the swim team or in the track field club I would immediately say no. And yeah, they'd snort and shake their heads and try to convince me that I was being lame- but nothing could change the fact that I just couldn't enjoy these things.

And I still can't. Being here has only cemented that I'm glad with all the times I said no, because if those parties were anything like this- I've saved myself a lot of hassle over the years.

Middle-aged men and women, sadly more _men _then I'd care for, keep asking me personal questions. 'Do I have a girl back home' or 'Am I fighting for anyone in particular' are the favourites apparently, along with offering me a wide array of illegal substances conveniently stashed in their back pocket.  
I say no to the questions and the drugs- because that's what Frilli berated me into doing- but I really just want to tell all of them to bug off. Maybe even say that I _do _have a girl back home, or that I _am _fighting for someone in particular- but then I remember there's only one girl that could be... and my stomach sort of... withers.

Thinking of Eresenda and her feelings for me sends my head spiralling. There is no clear answer to how I should respond. After all, I don't love her more than a sister- but I won't go as far to say that the feelings could never be reciprocated.  
I've been liked about three times before in my life. The first two were in the first few grades of school- one involving a marriage conducted with a jelly ring. The third was when I first became a senior, and it was a guy. On the same swim team as me.

Yeah. It was awkward finding out about that one.

Love, I'll admit, was never part of my plan in life. I want to be a professional shot-putter, living in a decent apartment in the centre of the Capitol. A family wasn't anything I ever wanted; because I figured I already had a pretty big one already. My sisters and Fathers were more than enough for me- so much so that I didn't even care that I've never had a mother figure in life.

If anyone else had fallen in love with me, I'd have said no. No question. I won't put their happiness upon me when I don't know if I can reciprocate it.  
...but Eresenda is my sister... sure, not related to me in any way, but in essence she has always been, and will always be my sibling. I want her to be happy – but if I go home to her only to say that I won't be with her...

...it's like I can't win. Survive these Games or not, unless I truly love her myself, I'll never be able to go home again. Not with that girl I wanted to keep from crying holding all she has on me coming back to her.

Great work Monty. I groan quietly as I reach for my glass of punch. Die or live with the guilt of breaking her heart. Neither sounds at all enjoyable.

"Uh, can you move aside? I'm trying to reach those-"

Suddenly alert I jump sideways before I even recognise the guy. It's the male tribute from Sector 10- Jasse Harridan. There's a brief awkward pause as we stare at one another, unsure whether to speak or not, but he leans in towards a platter of cocktail wieners and grabs several in his fist before leaning back and looking at me with an awkward smile.

"Yeah, I'm hungry," smiling sheepishly, Jasse forces one of the sausages into his mouth. "You know the ipecac solutions they usually keep right by the bathroom? Yeah. Accidentally drank some thinking it was orange punch. They're cleaning it up now."

Stunned at the fact this kid I haven't spoken two words to is talking to me so openly, I have to remind myself to laugh awkwardly at his story.

"That sounds awful," I say with a simpering laugh. "That's why I never let go of my drink."

"Yeah..." His jaw twinges a little, no doubt still tasting the vomit. "So, you're Montserrat right? Can I call you Monty instead?"

No one is this casual without alcohol.

"Uh, sure. Everyone else does." Unsure of what to say next, I stick out my hand for him to shake. "Nice to meet you?"

Jasse takes a look at my hand, snorts, and reaches for it with a grin. "You're surprisingly formal for a guy with a bright yellow mohawk."

"Haha, well I have this friend who's really formal... I guess it's rubbing off on me." I cringe a little as I realise this; Diego's impact on me as a person.

As I say this however, Jasse's face falls.

"I haven't made any friends like that..." His suddenly glum face turns curious. "Hey, were you asked to be part of Natalia's group? I mean, you're pretty buff- we could use someone like you."

I guess that's why I didn't talk to Jasse. He's one of Natalia's crew.

"Yeah, but I don't think it's the best choice for me," I say as casually as I can without coming off as rude or ungrateful for the suggestion. "Good luck to you though."

There's an odd pause. Then, without warning, Jasse suddenly takes a step towards me- looking up at me, eyes shining with something unreadable. I edge away, but I end up backing into the corner table and feeling strangely terrified.  
In the lowest of whispers, the boy looks at me with the widest eyes I've ever seen, and says-

"...you have a Sector partner right?"

...yeah... he's definitely drunk.

"No, I mean- you've got one of those sort of weak girls, yeah?" I'm so glad I'm taller than this kid, or else this'd be mortifying. "Because I'm having real trouble with mine- I don't know what to do..."

Though I try to recall who Jasse's Sector partner is, I draw a blank. I haven't talked to any of the girls aside from Natalia and Britney, and to be honest I don't see a need to.

That aside, I might as well try to help the intoxicated kid. "Uh... what's the problem?"

Jasse draws away from me and opens his mouth to begin- but silently he closes it again, having second thoughts. I wait, and though he opens and closes his mouth like a dying fish, after a few minutes he suddenly throws his hands up in the air.

"I don't know what to do man!" He cries bluntly, throwing the last of his fistful of appetisers back on the table. "She's going to get killed. She's gonna get killed and there's nothing I can do about it. I don't even know why I care!"

And as simple as that, Jasse Harridan turns on his heel and walks away in a fury.

...

I have absolutely no idea what I was thinking about before.

...And perhaps that's a good thing.

With a smile I'm not exactly sure why I have on, I reach over and finish off the last of the cocktail wiener plate; happy to have something non-medicated to occupy my thoughts.

-For a few minutes.

**

* * *

**

_Natalia Marinos; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 2._

Alright, fine. I'll happily admit to what I'm doing.

I'm making enemies with _all _the other girls for apparently no reason other than me wanting to be a mean, horrible person. Yeah, sure- I'll go along with that delusion of theirs. That's what I did all throughout school after all, let all those other girls convince themselves that I was just that creepy girl with a twin brother who just didn't know when to back down and be trod on.

Everything I do is for one purpose, and it's not a selfish one.

I do it to win.

That's why I've built together a group of the strongest competitors in what was probably meant to be the first Hunger Games in an age without careers. It's why I weeded out the trustworthy and the gullible from the stubborn and unpredictable. And it's the reason why I got up on that stage and grabbed at the audience's heart before anyone else even had the thought to do the same.

But no one believes that. They don't think it's part of a strategy.

They just think I'm being a mean, cold-hearted _witch_.

"_Perhaps you're right about that..._"

The echo of that infuriating boy's voice sends angry pulses up my spine- ringing inside my head.

"_-but it does mean that I'll certainly kill you, Natalia._"

Never before have I felt hatred like this, or for someone so young. Marshall Matthews is fourteen years old- and yet he's played my emotions like an instrument, starting from when we first locked eyes on stage.  
All through training I believed that the boy was only talk. Sure, he could do fancy little acrobatic stunts- but what good would that do him when I had a blade poised at his gut?

...but... then he scored an eleven... higher than everyone else... and suddenly his words finally had the power to scare me.  
The Gamemakers believe Marshall Matthews to be the most dangerous of us all. How can I not take heed from that?

"Natalia? Is something bothering you?"

Brandit's hand on my arm suddenly reminds me where I am, and that I'm on the verge of shattering my wine glass in my hand. Loosening up, I smile shakily, unable to meet his gaze.

"Yeah, but it'll pass." I hope. "What's up?"

The boy frowns slightly. "Just wondering where everyone else is... I guess."

That perks my interest a little; something better to think about than Matthews anyway.

"Anyone in particular?" I ask, taking a sip from the red wine. It's sweet. "Or just everyone in general?"

Brandit's lip twitches. "...I haven't seen my Sector partner in almost two hours."

It takes me a second or two to recall who Brandit's Sector partner is until I remember. Faye-Anna Cholores, the fourteen year old girl who looks permanently ill. Once I have her in mind, I nod- scanning the area.

"She might be in the bathroom," I suggest with a shrug. "Is it really bothering you? I thought you weren't friends."

With a start, Brandit quickly shakes his head- almost in denial. "N-No we're not, but..." His face falls. "...she's one of those people you just feel sorry for... you know? I have a little sister, it's sort of-"

I smile. "A brotherly thing?"

Looking a little surprised, he nods. "Yes. Exactly."

The only reason I could guess is Nate once said the same thing to me after I was being bad-mouthed by one of his friends. 'A brotherly thing' he called it when he explained why he got more upset than I did.

Honestly, I don't care too much about Faye-Anna- but Brandit is the closest thing I've got to a friend here, and seeing him look so worried irks me a little bit. If we were back home I'd do anything it could to make him feel better, and I don't think the principle has changed even though we're in a Hunger Games ballroom.

"Do you want me to go check in the bathroom for her?"

It's a little adorable how Brandit jolts with alarm at the mere suggestion; sort of as if he wouldn't even dream of asking me to do something so unnecessary.

"You don't have to do that," He says seriously, lowering his eyebrows. "I mean, I'd appreciate it, but-"

"Don't worry about it," I smirk, waving a hand. "I need to go anyway. I've felt flushed since I was up on stage. Wait right here?"

Brandit smiles, relieved. "Sure."

For someone being as berated as he is by his Sector team, it's nice to see that he still has the heart to care about the girl who is the reason he's being treated so badly for. I'm sure if I offered to let her into the team he'd jump at the suggestion- but sadly, I don't have as much heart as he does.

Faye-Anna would be a weight keeping me from leaving the arena, I'm sure.

Approaching the bathroom door, the smell of vomit is barely masked by the heavy scent of air fresheners. Of all the wonders of the Capitol, we still can't manage to keep our bathrooms smelling clean. I'm sort of missing the toilet back home, which always smelled of lavender.  
There's a 'cleaning' sign on the door, but I ignore it like anyone else would. I have to squint a little to see inside the dimly lit ladies room, but once I do- I almost wish I couldn't see.

It's amazing how so many women fail to remember that you're meant to take the vomiting agent _while you're already in the cubicle_. What's the point in taking it and then _running _to the bathroom? You'll never make it, as evidenced by the large vomit puddles splattered by the sinks.

Gross.

"-I don't know if I can really..."

Voices. I swiftly turn my head to one of the closed cubicles, startled.

"Oh come on, do it as a favour to me and Diego. He'd really appreciate it."

My teeth clench together tightly. And not just any voice.

Marshall.

"Why would Diego want me to?" The female voice answers quietly, plainly unsure of whatever the brat is asking her to do. God please be something illegal so I can rat him out. "I don't understand."

There's a snort and the sound of laughter. "Okay, I lied. Just for me. But come on, out of all the girls here you've got to be the only one who can. Please?"

"But, Ari Saint-Claire would be a better choice..."

"No, not her. It can't be her; it has to be someone unknown. Please Kori; you've got to do it."

Kori-? Ah. Koriana Wilder from Sector 8, partner of Diego "D". I haven't paid any attention to her.

"Well... if you're sure it's going to help... I'll do it..."

There's a loud whooping sound, and I push my way into the cubicle next to theirs as the lock begins to rattle and Marshall steps out into the open, just as I lock mine up tight. I sit down on the closed seat, waiting to hear an exposition- but all I get is a 'thanks a million Kori', I'll pay you back for this.' And then the bathroom door closing after the two of them.

...okay.

I'm officially lost.

What the hell is Marshall Matthews up to?

**

* * *

**

_Cotton Valamine Ferier; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 11._

"Ugh... I'm sick of this night..." I grumble into Vinel's jacket sleeve. "I mean... this party _sucks_- it's not even any _fun_."

Vinel shakes a little as he laughs, but I don't let go of his arm. To be completely truthful, I've had _enough _of this party. I usually love parties- they're my favourite thing in the world- but when they're just filled with snooty rich people and not pop dance music and... you know, _fun_- they're not enjoyable at all!  
I'm glad I have Vinel though, to keep me sane through all this. I still can't get over how much I've grown to like him in the past few days. It just doesn't seem real.

"Why are you in such a bad mood Cotton-ball?" Vinel asks teasingly, resting his hand atop my head and stroking my hair with his fingers. "Party not good enough for you?"

A pleasurable shiver rolls down my spine because of his fingers brushing my hair, but I don't let it show. "No, it's boring."

Tutting disapprovingly, Vinel wraps an arm around my shoulder and pushes me deeper into his side. The unfamiliar smell of him wafts over me like a blanket, and I can't help but close my eyes and drink it in.  
Yes, I barely know this boy. But already I feel so comfortable beside him; I can't help but wonder why such strong feelings are overcoming me now. I had plenty of chances to fall in love before these Games- and yet only Vinel has made my heart race with just his scent.

"Is there something you'd like to do?" He asks, suddenly quiet. Perhaps there are people hovering nearby. "Something to drink or eat?"

My eyes still closed, I yawn into the fabric of his sleeve. "No... I've had plenty to eat... too much to drink..."

There's a soft silence as I feel the soreness in my body from all our dancing finally begin to slowly ebb away. Though there's not complete silence, since this is a party after all, and there's no way everyone will be quiet, it's still pleasantly quiet for a moment.  
I've never really liked quiet, honestly. When you live in a house with three other sisters, two brothers and a load of pets- it's hard to. But my head has been filled with thoughts I can't pin down these days, and I'm too exhausted at the end of the day to lie away and think.

Here, resting on Vinel's arm is the closest thing I have to a sanctuary right now.

The Games are getting so close now. There'll be no time for dancing and cuddling up to Vinel once I step off that plate. I'll have a weapon on me at all times- something I've never had before. Sure, Vinel will be near me- I don't like the idea of leaving his side during these Games to be honest- but he won't be able to comfort me like this. Not with _Natalia _and all that around.

She's going to be trouble. I can just tell. She and all the other girls are. That Koriana girl from Sector 8 who lied about her Sector partner, that 'Ari Saint-Claire' thinking she's all high and mighty- and I'm sure the others are going to be a problem too.  
Sometimes I forget there are twelve other girls. Besides from those three, it's hard to remember them. I know there's a girl my age in Sector 3- but she looks like an idiot. Then there are those two cheerleaders from 7 and 9- but they look like bloodbaths to me.

Who does that leave? The little winged girl, and that anorexic girl from 6... oh, and the girl who blew up her hands before we entered, that's right... and Vinel's partner...

My face wrinkles up in annoyance as I remember. 'Minerva'.

At first she didn't seem to bother me. I mean, there was nothing between her and Vinel except that they lived in the same area, right? They certainly didn't seem to be friends or anything... but then he suggested her to Natalia on the second day of training...

...it's not that I'm jealous... or worried or anything like that. Only she is... she's pretty... and hearing him want her in the group- for whatever stupid reason he said on the day- it just made my heart sink.

"...Vinel?"

With a bemused smile, Vinel looks down at me as I continue to clutch onto his arm. Too embarrassed to look him in the eye as I ask this, I drop my eyes to my shoes as we sit against the wall.

Vinel nudges me softly with his elbow. "What is it? What were you going to ask me?"

"I... I want to know..." Slowly, I raise my eyes up to his. "...what do you... what do you honestly think of me?"

Surprised, Vinel pulls his arm out of my grasp and immediately wraps it around my shoulder instead, pulling me closer into his side and deeper into his warmth.

"That's a bit random... but alright," Vinel takes one final look at me before turning his gaze upwards. "...you're a bit crazy, in that way some girls are, really surprising... random... and I think you're also a bit cooped up in your head."

I stare at him, feeling a little disillusioned. Wasn't this meant to be a romantic moment? He catches my look and grins a little, squeezing my shoulder with his arm gently.

"You didn't let me finish," He whispers teasingly, winking. "Well... I've known you for about four days now, five if you count the chariots... but... even though it's only been such a short time... I can safely say that out of all the girls I've ever met- you've left the biggest imprint on me."

Slowly, I pull away from him to get a better look at his face. "Do you really mean that?"

Snickering a little, Vinel nods and closes his eyes. I watch him quietly for a few moments as he grins to himself- and slowly leans his head against the wall behind.

"I've had a lot of girls like me... a lot... but I didn't give a passing care about any of them..." His grin melts into a happy smile. "...because I was waiting for that girl who I'd fall for in just one look."

Heart pounding, I look down at my knees, embarrassed. "...and... am I that girl?"

There's the pause. I almost hold my breath expectantly as he opens his eyes again and looks back at me. I can feel my hands tingling and his arm grows warmer around my shoulder as Vinel suddenly smirks.

"You were half naked. Of course you were."

My teeth lock together as my shoulders rise up. "You _jerk_, Pinkie-!"

Roaring with laughter, Vinel leans backwards as I begin to hit his arm rapidly with my little balled fists. He holds me back by my shoulders- but that doesn't stop me from beating him as much as I can.

"Whoah- easy girl, easy- it was a joke Cotton-ball, it was a joke-!"

"We were having a serious moment and you _wrecked _it~!"

Eyes sparkling with delight, Vinel continues to pull backwards as I harmlessly pound into him. "I could fix if you'd like~?"

"You can't fix it now you doof-!" I cry, half laughing- half angry. "I hate you, you're a complete-"

Suddenly I'm forced forwards, and with his hands controlling my fall- Vinel locks his mouth against mine and closes his eyes.

-!

Slowly, the rest of the ballroom melts away, and I also close my eyes.

...

...Sanctuary...

**

* * *

**

**Capitol Question #011; which character would you dance with formally were you to choose?**


	37. The Hidden Rebellions

**A Vivid Note: **apologies for this chapter taking so long, but have no fear, for there are only six more chapters before the games begin after this. Also, as surprising as this is to hear, as of _this _chapter we've passed the 200, 000 word count. Did any of you believe I would reach this far when I first asked for your tributes?

And I promise I'll... make it worth your... _time..._ ahaha...

There is yet _another _song in this chapter (_I promise, this is the last one for a very long time._) and as per usual, it is an English rendition of a Japanese song titled "Shinyaku no Yoru" (_Night of the New Testament_). You can find it by typing in the words "UMG 6 with English Translations". It's a beautiful song- if you don't have an aversion to foreign music- and quite powerful I believe.

**Capitol Question #012; do you think 'favouritism' towards tributes affects Gamemakers' judgements? Would it affect **_**you **_**if you were a Gamemaker?**

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Julian Healthcliffe Farraday; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 12._

Parties are my element, the environment in which I thrive best. There's about an hour to midnight and the number of women I've probably swayed into sponsoring me has grown into the dozens, and I've even managed to stomach talking several men into it as well.  
It's amazing what a batted eyelid can achieve when you're attractive. Especially when the recipient is almost three times your age and _loaded_.

-I can't be too complacent though. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't spending every spare moment scouting out the corners of the room for her; turning around every female Avox in the hopes of finding that one woman.

She can't have been killed because of me. She just... can't have been. I'd never forgive myself if she were. But knowing that I feel so bad for potentially, _inadvertently _killing someone just tells me that I'm not at _all _prepared for what's to come in two more nights.  
I know most of these people now. Heck, I even like some of them. How am I supposed to put my life before theirs?

This was all a lot simpler back when I thought of the Hunger Games as more of a pageant than a fight to the death.

As I go to take a drink, the familiar but horrible sugary smell of the vomit syrup fills my nostrils and I involuntarily heave in disgust.

"Eurgh- for Christ's sake-!"

In my moment of deep thought, I had accidentally raised the glass of ipecac to my lips instead of my beer. I've already used it twice tonight in order to continue eating and drinking with all the potential sponsors. Usually I don't touch the stuff, but it's a necessity tonight.

-Not that I don't hate it. The syrup is usually used by bulimic girls and the guys who date them. The first and last time I used the stuff was for a dare- and boy did I end up regretting that. It makes a person throw up until their stomach is empty, and then continues until every last ounce of spit is thrown up with it.

You'd never guess from its sugar-sweet taste.

For the last half hour I've been watching as the little brat Sapphire is being dragged from sponsor to sponsor by Vee. It's pretty funny, watching her squirm uncomfortably inside that dress of frills as the men and women look at her so severely.  
They all know a girl like her has no hope of winning. Why would she? Not only is she plain to the eyes, she's not even a pleasant person.

Listening hard, it's possible to hear the whispers of 'the bloodbaths'. Though the gamblers tend to go for the big win- who will come out alive- there are a few betting pittances on who will be killed in the 'big opening'.

I've heard the names. I can rattle them off as easily as I can say the alphabet.

First the girl from Sector 1; the winged one- they're all saying she's done for. Then the boy _and _the girl from Sector 3, who I'm hearing a lot of people say 'look too friendly' to be winners. Then the girl from 6, and the girls from 8, 9, 10 and 12.  
As for the boys, not as many- but no one thinks the youngest kid- 'Vince' from Sector 11 will make it. Same goes for the boy from 5- who everyone is just sort of glazing over in order to focus on Ari Saint-Claire.

As for me... well I'm a charmer. If they thought I was a bloodbath before, they're certainly not going to want me to be one now. All it takes is for my lips to brush against that woman's ear or my hand to run down _that _woman's arm... simple enough.

Wasn't so eager to do the same for the men though.

Still, hearing those whispers just confirmed that we are who we are; the Capitol. Doesn't matter if it's District kids or Capitol kids slugging it out in that arena- they want their bloodbath, their bloodshed and their bloodstained winner.  
All that matters is that one of us also wants the same things. Then they'll have a victor.

"Julian, are you growing bored?"

For the first time since we caught the elevator ride down to the ballroom floor, I turn and see Nikolai, in his usual worn stance, staring at me with eyes glazed over with liquor. Though he asked the question, I can already tell that the old guy is exhausted.

I shrug. "I've worked the room. There's nothing left to do but wait out the clock."

For some strange reason, this causes Nikolai to smirk dryly and shake his head. I oblige by smirking back, though I have absolutely no idea what's funny. We spend a few minutes in an empty silence, when the mentor finally opens his eyes and seems to settle on me properly.

"You know... you've worked harder than any other tribute I've ever had Julian," He says, still smirking slightly. "Possibly the first who had any skills with people, to be honest."

"District 12 doesn't have any charismatic kids?" I ask lightly, raising my beer to my lips.

In response, Nikolai's eyes trail along the floor with a very definite sadness.

"District 12... doesn't have _any _children who fight anymore."

There's a pause as I hold my glass to my face but don't take a drink. The many lines that stretch across Nikolai's face deepen in anguish as I can't help but feel a horrible sinking sensation inside my chest.  
This is the first time I realised how much pain mentors must go through each year. Over the course of six days they grow to understand a pair of kids, only for them to enter an arena and be slaughtered. Then the process repeats the next year with a new pair of kids who would suffer the same fate.

The coal District hasn't had a winner in years. Perhaps Nikolai, a victor from a game thirty-seven years ago, has been able to do nothing but watch hopelessly as two children from his hometown die at the hands of careers, Gamemakers and one another...

...God. I came into these Games thinking they weren't as bad as people believed. So people died? What did it matter, really? People die all the time. That's what I thought.  
I had no damn idea there was this much strain on the world around the Games.

Swallowing, I turn away from the old man. "Listen... Nikolai... I'm sorry... okay?"

In the corner of my eye I can see him look up, but I don't dare look him in the face. Not now; when I don't deserve to burden this poor guy any further.

"...I'm... probably not going to make it out of this thing alive..."

As he stiffens, I close my eyes gently and smile widely. Facing him with no courage, I outstretch my hand into the darkness.

"-but promise me, promise me that you won't blame yourself, okay old man?"

Nikolai Medve of District 12, the winner of the 88th Hunger Games, says nothing. But, with a little hesitation, the cold leathery skin of his hand grasps mine.

Julian Healthcliffe Farraday of the Capitol, victim of the 125th Hunger Games, is grateful.

"Now let's have a drink, huh?"

**

* * *

**

_Liotta McKensie; 12 years; the Capitol Sector 1._

"Oh, Lili I almost didn't see you there."

Hearing Vince's voice after so long is like a rush of comfort. Though I try to hide my happiness behind a meek smile, I'm positive that my eyes are gleaming. I turn to see him, weakly showing an exhausted sort of smile- but his eyes that meet mine are absolutely sparkling.

Not knowing if it's okay or not, I hug him lightly around the shoulders. "Vince, I'm so glad you found me. Everyone else is... well, they keep getting dragged away by their mentors."

"Oh, they're lucky," Vince awkwardly pulls away from me, sighing. "My mentor isn't even trying to get me sponsors. He just keeps pushing them towards Cotton and they all _love _her."

I bite my lip in sympathy. That sounds so much like what's happening to me; all of the sponsors heading straight to Jason with his score of 10. Though Jason has always seemed nicer to me than Cotton does to Vince- he told me that she's been pretty rude to him actually- I can't help but feel I deserved more than 4. None of the other tributes stood up for themselves like I did, did they? I bet none of them had the brief courage to try and take down a Gamemaker... I might even be the first tribute in history to have done what I had.

Still, no one except Sapphire knows I had done that- and right now I should be focusing on Vince. "I'm sure you'll be okay Vince, everyone keeps saying how much they like you because you're... um... cute."

It sounds stupid when I say it like that, and I can feel the heat rise into my cheeks upon saying it. Vince looks a little flustered as well, and laughs awkwardly.

"W-Well, you're cute too, so maybe those same people will sponsor both of us..."

As much as I want to believe that, I know it's not true. Vince scored lower than me, lower than _anyone_, and he has the pity vote. I have pity as well, but not half as much compared to him. My death is just sort of a given... really...

Vince must be a mind reader, because he touches me slightly on my dress cuff and shakes his head. "Don't think about it Lili," He whispers quietly. "It's too sad."

As those bright blue eyes fill with sadness, I wonder what I could possibly say to make things better. This boy has things so much harder than I do, a lower score, a mean Sector partner, no one believing he can win... and from what I read in the pamphlet, not even a whole home to return to...

"Vince..." I begin quietly, focusing on my feet. "I-"

"_Attention party guests! _We have a few words from our Gamemakers!"

-eh? A cold chill runs up my spine. I didn't know that the Gamemakers were going to give speeches at this party. Everyone turns to look towards the stage, and I suddenly see not one, but all seven of the Gamemakers all lined up in little seats like some sort of assembly.  
The first to stand once everyone has quietened is the tall blonde woman with full, flowing hair, and her cocktail dress is adorned with gold that seems to mimic her hair. She clears her throat with a little cough before raising her hand to the microphone- which amplifies the odd sound of tiny little bell chimes.

But there are no bells around her wrist. Odd.

"Hello to you all, I hope everyone is having a pleasant evening," Her voice is like a chime itself as she stares across us with obvious contempt. "I am Dai, one of your Gamemakers of this Quell. I would like to use this moment to express what a pleasure it is to have you in our company, and that we can make this Quell one to remember- in spite of its... unfortunate circumstances."

Wow. I wasn't expecting any of the Gamemakers to even admit to the circumstances, let alone call them 'unfortunate'. However, without so much as a blink, Dai quickly resumes her seat as the next Gamemaker- the large man with ram-horn shaped hair who had boisterously taunted me during my training session- stomps up to the microphone.

"Here's wishing to a fantastic night and an even better Quell!" He roars, feedback wailing across the room as the microphone takes a jolt. "Whoops, sorry! Anyway, I'm Aries- and I'll be making sure you all get what you deserve in these Games. Let's make 'em count!"

With a bow that slops the flagon of beer down his sleeve- the man, Aries- takes his seat and allows for the next two Gamemakers to deliver similar, short and bitter speeches about wishing the best for the games. All I really learn is that the elderly man, who speaks in a dying whisper, his name is Pestil, and the man with the toucan beak's name is 'Toco'.

-Even though they're all so humorous in name and appearance... they also command a terrible sense of fear with their presence. I don't like thinking that these men and women are in charge of my life from here on out. They don't look like the kinds who care about anything but a good show.

The pair of twin Gamemakers somehow gains a round of applause upon standing up. With short little bows, the two men look at one another before the one on the right takes hold of the microphone and begins to speak in a dry, playful sort of voice-

"Our names are Remy and Winn, and we are very glad to have had the pleasure of meeting all of you who were invited this evening," With a coy smirk, he cocks an eyebrow. '-And, of course, all of you who _weren't _invited~!"

Laughter. As both the young men break into snickers of their own, on the far end of the stage I see the Head Gamemaker Iilvsea Crane also begin to giggle softly.

Quickly the microphone passes to the other twin. "Thank you to everyone who made an appearance tonight. Again, we hope that this Quell proves to be as delightful to you all to watch as it will be for us to orchestrate it."

...I can recognise one difference between the two twenty-year old twins. This one has a slightly softer, lighter tone of voice, where the other one sounds drier.

With a hand of each upon the microphone, both men bow one last time. "Now, we turn the stage over to the little girl in charge- Miss Iilvsea Crane~!"

My hands tighten into fists as fear grips me on all sides. Both men bow backwards to their chairs as the girl, so small and dainty in comparison to the rest of the Gamemaking team, floats across the stage and takes a hold of the microphone, smiling blithely as the crowd throughout the room cheers and applauds wildly.  
...I didn't look at her too much during my training session. When I threw that knife, I was aiming for the large man. Iilvsea Crane was just sort of _there_, smiling craftily nearby.

Now that she's centre stage, I'm starting to wish that if I had aimed at someone, it was her. Never before have I had such a bad feeling about someone based on _sight_.

"Tonight is a time for both joy and sadness," Iilvsea begins curtly, her frilly black dress bouncing as she steps forwards. "After all, we are sending our own into the arena in just one more night, twenty-three of which will never touch the Capitol again."

A definite moan escapes every sponsor in the room. Iilvsea allows this by nodding sympathetically, still holding the microphone to her face.

"-But, it is also a time for joy," her half-closed eyes catch a bit of the light, sparkling. "Because for the first time, we will be able to show the Districts that we too have as much bite as they do, as well as those in the Capitol who they themselves didn't believe we did. It is a time for learning, and a time to take a good look at ourselves... by watching these twenty-four... tributes."

Curling across her cheeks, her smile grows pointed as a silent gasp escapes my chest and disappears into the atmosphere around me while the crowd begins to cheer and applaud Iilvsea's next meaningless words.

...I... I think I get it... why this... why this is happening...

I turn to look at Vince, but his face too is showing the exact same expression that must be afflicting my own face. He has also come to the same conclusion as me. We, the youngest tributes in this Quell, finally understand.

...this Quell is a way for the Capitol to punish the rebels within its walls... before they even rebel... almost like snarling through Iilvsea's perfect white teeth-

'_We do not care if you are one of us. If you fight back, we will most certainly kill you._'

-Is that why... why there are so many protestors...? Are the protestors really... rebels..?

The room bursts into roars of hysteric cheering as Iilvsea Crane takes a short, delicate bow and her team of Gamemakers all nod in unison.

"Thank you, our darling Capitol!"

**

* * *

**

_Jasse Harridan; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 10._

I don't give a shit about the Gamemakers. Blah, endless _blah _is all I heard when that blue headed girl talked up there. It might be the alcohol in my brain or the ache in my feet, but all I want is for this goddamn party to be over.  
Never before have I drank so much, and right now I'm wondering why the hell not. The smooth, bitter liquid burns on the way down and then proceeds to fuzz up my mind, leaving but a pleasant blur in my head.

Really, I can't believe how boring this party is. As the Gamemakers file off the stage, the tiny Gamemaker helped down by the hand of one of the twins, all I feel is contempt. I never really cared for the Games, since they were sort of a waste of time to get caught up in- and television wasn't something I watched a lot of- but now that I'm a tribute, I can feel almost a hundred and twenty-five years of mutual hatred for these figures bubble through me.

Though it probably should be a bad feeling, this sort of anger is sort of thrilling.

The rest of the tributes are pretty much as smashed as I am really, or at least the ones I've run into are. That guy from 4 and his girlfriend certainly are. Last I saw they were ferociously making out against a wall. Then there's the chick from 3, and even the Natalia have been taking shots of whatever comes their way.

I think it's the pressure. We all know we're going to die, so we need a bloody drink just to deal with it all. Fifteen years, coming up to sixteen- I've spent, thinking I had my whole life in front of me. I don't know, find a girl, fall in love, get a job, buy a house, have kids... that was all just a given.

And suddenly it's not.

It's obvious that I should feel more terrified, but the alcohol works. All that's left is a sense of bitterness about this whole mess. How unfair it feels to have a lifetime taken away from me just so the rest of my country can enjoy their Game.

...haven't we... been through enough?

Alright. Fine, want me to admit it? It's not me I'm upset for. It's that unfortunate Sector partner of mine. The only reason I'm upset about these Games is because of how my insides squish up in pity at the sight of her. They have from the first day, when I saw her dragged into that velvet tent by those two peacekeepers, with guts splattered up her front and her hands in tatters.

How else am I supposed to feel about it? She's _my age_. Evon Sanhorn's only difference from me is that she's a girl, and she had the guts to try and escape this fate.

Compared to me... I'm a coward in comparison.

That's why I can't stop worrying about her. I know she's toast in these Games, with her hands being dead and her will to fight all but crushed. On that day she told me that she doesn't believe her hands deserved to be fixed... but then that Iilvsea called her up and dashed whatever hopes she might have been hiding...

"_I could fix these._"

That's why when I heard that man, that 'doctor' talking to her... I began to worry.  
There's no way someone as slippery as that is genuine, especially when they're willing to put themselves in danger just to pursue a 'hobby' of theirs. I held back until he left, but I heard everything.

And now that the speeches are over and midnight is fast approaching, I've been keeping an eye out for Evon anywhere. Drunk I may be, but disheartened- not the slightest. This may be her courage helping her, but I know that no good can come of this 'Doctor Galen' messing her hands up any further. I have to stop her before she puts herself in any more trouble.

No trustworthy Doctor would help a tribute without authorisation. In fact, I don't think there's any Doctor in existence that'd do something this extreme just to be _nice_.

Well... no Doctor in the Capitol anyhow, and especially not one who frequents _Quarter Quell _parties.

I just need to find her. Every moment I see a girl clad in a red dress I practically lunge at her. Whenever I see that straight black hair, I spin them around and beg her not to go through with it. And each time I do I'm met with terrified expressions of anyone but Evon.  
She's terrified of dying; I know she is- more than any of us. I knew it the moment they slammed her bloody against my chest for those chariot rides.

-But she can't let that fear cloud her judgement like this-!

"Ah! U-Uhm, M-Miss are you okay? Miss! Oh god- oh god- she's not getting up-! Is there a Doctor? Is there a Doctor here?"

_EVON._

Crazed, I hurtle towards the sound of the outcry. As expected of a Capitol scene, there's a crowd around the centre of attention, blocking her from my view. However that doesn't stop me from ramming my way past the gaggling group of Quell sponsors, shoving them aside with my elbow as I let my drink smash to the ground behind me.

"Evon! EVON!" I don't need to see her to know who it is. The blinding red I catch upon the ground is evidence enough. "Evon _don't_-! Freaking hell!"

With a final burst of energy- I slam the other person out of the way, knocking them forcefully to the ground as I lunge forwards for her. Her eyes clenched tightly shut and her teeth gritted together in what looks like pain. For a brief second I truly believe she's an excellent actor- until my eyes catch sight of a red that is certainly not part of her dress.

She must have cut the bandages open herself; the broken bottle still rocking beside her. The once white tatters are melding into the flesh, patches of blistered, dead skin revealed as it tears away. Blood has smeared itself all down her dress, her arms, everywhere.

Evon is desperate for this to be convincing. Faking her way into the Doctor's office wasn't enough for her. She wanted it to be unavoidable.

...h-how can she be so _stupid?_

"He's not going to help you Evon-!" I hiss furiously, gripping her tightly as her head lolls back and forth. "He's just going to _screw you up even more-!_"

A sharp, cold voice behind me interrupts- "Would someone get her Sector partner away from her?"

"NO!" I whirl around, eyes furious as I see him. The 'Doctor'. "I-I'm not letting you near her! I'll cut her hands off myself before I let you mess her up any further!"

The crowd is gasping and shrieking as more people gather around to view the scene unfold. Galen stares down with narrowed green eyes as I yank up my Sector partner into my arms, holding on tightly. His distaste is obvious- even to me- but I don't care. He can't do anything to make me let her go with him.

"I'm not going to _mess her up_." He says calmly, stepping forwards. I instinctively pull back, feeling Evon since in my arms. "Please Jasse, she needs medical attention-"

"She needed medical attention before!" I spit, unable to control my rage. "But you said she wasn't allowed to! They refused to treat her! _They said she wasn't human!_"

At this stage everyone around us is watching on in absolute shock and awe. Galen looks dumbstruck, but I don't care. There's no reason to anymore. What he wants to do is illegal- and if a Gamemaker were here and I shouted it out for all to hear, I'm sure that he'd be in a whole load of shit.  
Somewhere in those eyes, I think he also knows that, because his teeth are slowly locking together.

"Mr. Harridan..." He says crossly, kneeling down. "Your partner is hurt... let me-"

As Galen leans forwards, I feel a surge of panic for the girl in my arms. "For the last damn time- NO-!"

But when he doesn't move backwards, I reach breaking point. All the alcohol from tonight churns in my head as the light above glints across the shiny surface of the broken bottle- and my hand snatches it by the neck.

There's no time for Galen to react as Evon's eyes snap open just in time to see me smash the bottle's jagged edges into his cheek.

"-JASSE DON'T-!"

And the screams around us does nothing to deter me as the glass rips into the man's cheek.

I won't be a coward anymore.

**

* * *

**

_Francesca Emmeline von Bardot; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 3._

My head is spinning around the room. Laughter fills my ears, but I'm not sure whose it is anymore. My hands grab onto his shoulders and Holland's arms wrap around my waist as we giggle and stumble across the dance floor.  
I don't know why there's any sadness in the world. _This _is all there is to it; a blurring cornucopia of colours and lights, laughter and emotion, nothing else.

"I think I'm seriously about to throw up-!" Holland cries as I hold his arms out at full length and twirl about him. "Chess-!"

Laughing like a maniac, I shake my head frantically. "No Holly- no throwing up! Swallow it down- I want to keep dancing-!"

For a few seconds it looks like Holly tries to do exactly that. However the moment he does, his cheeks puff red and I only just manage to spin out of control and away from the splatter as several other dancers around us groan and shriek in disgust.

Whoops? I didn't really think he was going to puke! Giggling hysterically, I make sure to side step the trail of vomit and put my arms onto my suddenly unsteady and terrified Sector partner, whispering quietly with gentle words that everything is fine.  
I keep forgetting how fragile the guy is. This is his first party after all; he isn't used to keeping liquor and party food down like I am.

"I'm so, so, _so _sorry Holly," I croon sadly, stroking his head softly. "I thought you were just being funny..."

Holland tries to answer, but all that comes out is a sickening gurgle as a fresh surge of vomit dribbles out of his mouth. Luckily I'm not like most girls- vomit doesn't bother me much since I'm a bit of an addict of ipecac drinks, plus Mirabelle has been frequenting more parties lately- and this doesn't discourage me from cradling my poor friend.

"M-My stomach... my stomach hurts..." The boy hiccoughs desperately, tears in his eyes. "Ch-Chess my stomach... hurgh..."

"Oh, oh Holland I'm sorry-!" My heart breaks a little knowing that we could've avoided this. I shouldn't have been so silly. "Um, um-" Looking around, I notice that only a few onlookers have noticed us. The party has emptied somewhat since midnight. "Can someone help us-?"

Almost on cue, Holland is scooped up under the arms by our mentor in shining armour. Ava looks at me with an appreciative smile, perhaps thinking I wasn't the reason Holland had been drinking all night, as Lilia our escort quietly ushers both of them away, but with her free hand waves someone else over while looking at me with a concerned stare.

"I wasn't expecting the both of you to be so reckless tonight," Lilia whispers quietly, in a reprimanding motherly sort of way. "Really, with the Games in only one more day..."

Flustered, I try to find out what I could say to apologise. "I-I'm sorry, we were just having fun- _hic_-!"

Hiccoughs; now of all times. My face scrunches up in despair as I begin the age old trick of holding my breath and shutting my eyes tight in an effort to make the annoying things disappear. My body jolts and flinches with every one, until I hear Ava quietly ask someone-

"Could you take care of her for a bit? We'll pick her up once we've fixed up Holland..."

Fixed up? Maybe they think he's come down with something really serious other than not being able to hold his liquor. All the same, I open my eyes a squint to see who Ava is asking to 'take care' of me, but all I see is a blur of black and white as a man in his tuxedo kneels down to talk with me upon the ground.

"Miss...? Oh yeah... Ava?" He turns around, and I begin to focus on his crimson red hair. "She's definitely on the way out. Want me to sit her down somewhere?"

Ava is too quiet for me to hear, but the next thing I know I'm being lifted up by my underarms like Holland was by this strange, and as I hiccough one more time- my eyesight clears and my entire body freezes as I suddenly recognise him.

I can hardly believe it. My eyes feel like they're shaking in their sockets as I realise exactly who this crimson haired man is, almost feeling disgraced with myself for not realising it sooner-!

It's Mars, Mars Donovan from District 2; winner of the 113th Games.

With my heart beating rapidly, I reach forwards to check that this is truly real. Sure enough, his face mixes with confusion as my hand grips the buttons of his dress shirt, and a gasp escapes my lips.

"It's _really you_."

He pulls out of my reach, gently taking my hand and resting it back against my side- but my fingers remain locked where they had grasped his clothes. I _touched Mars Donovan. _The man I've had a schoolgirl crush on since I was only four years old. Mars Donovan is standing in front of me- and I _touched him_-

"I think you should sit down Miss," His yellow eyes stare out from underneath the mess of scraggly brown hair. "You've had a bit too much to drink..."

As he takes me by the arm and guides me to a chair, I can't help but blurt it out. "You're Mars Donovan!"

He smiles a bit at this, but it looks pained. "Yes, that's me."

I can't control the squeal that erupts out of me before I can stop it. Gripping his arm closer to mine and pushing my side into his, I grin wider than I ever have in my entire life.  
This is the stuff girls dream about; running into their favourite celebrity and being touched and even _held _by them. The butterflies in my stomach begin to flutter in circles in my chest- tingling everything inside me right down to my toes.

It's really Mars. It's _really him_.

"You've had a bit too much to drink," He says quietly, pulling out a chair at one of the now empty group tables. "So you sit here, and I'll get you some water-"

"Eh?" I lurch in my seat as he moves away. "B-But I'm not thirsty! And I-I'd really like to talk to you Mars-! I'm your biggest fan-!"

The man looks a little taken aback by these words, though I can't possibly understand why that'd be. Since he won when he was fourteen and he's now twenty-six- that's twelve years he's had to get used to girls like me having colossal crushes on him! I can't honestly be the first, can I?

My heart pounds as Mars decidedly resigns himself over to a seat, sitting down beside me quietly. "Go ahead then. What do you want to talk about?"

Butterflies skipping about inside me, a million questions and wonderments twirl in my head. What do I say? What should I ask? This is the man I've had a crush on since I was _four years old_. I don't care that he's ten years older than me! I've waited so long to see him- and now that he's here, staring at me with those amber yellow eyes- I don't know what to say-! B-But he's staring at me- he must think I'm an idiot for not being able to construct a basic rudimentary conversation! Say something Francesca! Say _something_-!

"I-I really like your hair-!"

Almost immediately I wish I hadn't said anything, because Mars first looks surprised, then he snorts and begins to laugh quietly. Cheeks burning with embarrassment, I stare down at my hands gripping the fabric of my dress for support.  
Great, nice going Chess. You meet your _one _dream guy and you screw it up. Of course you would you bubbly little idiot. Ugh... I'm so stupid-! Why! Why didn't I just say nothing-?

"You're pretty chipper for a tribute, aren't you?" I shiver as that enticing, rugged voice chortles beside me. "That's a nice change."

"E-Eh...?" I blink repeatedly. "Um... I guess so... everyone's been saying I'm really optimistic..."

"Hm? Is that so..." Mars looks toward the ceiling, smiling slightly. "...why would that be? Have you got a lucky charm or something?"

"No, I haven't got a token or anything." My smile falters at this. It's been something that has been secretly bothering me a bit the past few days. "I sort of wish I had something lucky though..."

"Well, maybe this'll help then-"

By the time I look up, Mars is already holding the knife up to his face. I squeak in alarm- but then I realise he's steadying it by the side of his hair. I watch on in wonder as he holds a pinch of his hair then brings the knife to it and cuts it off. I'm still staring on in surprise as he pulls my hand forth and puts the small lock of his hair in my palm, now wrapped up neatly in the table's serviette.

"Well now you have one. You said you liked it right?" Mars smirks dryly, possibly knowing that I had spouted that out by accident. "Think of it as a lucky charm then."

I don't know what to say. Dumb with awe I stare down at the serviette, knowing that I now own a lock of Mars Donovan's hair- something I've been subconsciously craving like any crazed fan has for thirteen years.

"I... I'll take care of it-!" I stammer, looking up at him with wide eyes. "Thank you! Thank you so much!"

As he rises to his feet, Mars Donovan leaves me with not one, but two tokens I will treasure for the rest of my life. The first being wrapped up neatly in my hand.

The second being the warm smile that no television camera has ever caught before.

**

* * *

**

_Koriana Rebexa Wilder; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 8._

This is a mistake. I have no idea what I'm doing up here.

He's a friend of Diego's, one of those 'friends' that he seemed to be so enthralled to have. He's the boy who scored the highest out of all us tributes, and the one who caused one of the biggest scandals I've ever seen during the chariot rides.

Marshall Matthews whistles slightly as he plugs chords into amplifiers and scrawls out sheet music like it was a second language. The microphone in my hand is stone cold yet seems to burn as I feel all the eyes of the ballroom resting on my back.  
When he pulled me into the closed bathroom, I was mortified. After all, what little experience I had with boys- and I'm talking _little _to _no _experience- warned me that when I'm getting dragged into a room by force, I'm about to get ravaged.

Luckily, the boy who I recently just remembered is a whole year _younger _than I am cleared up that misconstrued thought by telling me that all he wanted was-

"_For you to get up on stage and sing a song with me._"

At which point I snorted in laughter until I realised he was being serious.

I'm not a singer. The best I ever sung was at a karaoke night when I was six and that was because everyone thought I was adorable in my party dress and I felt I couldn't do any wrong that night. Since then, all I've ever done on stage is standing up in the middle of a dramatic arts lesson and crying 'attention must be paid~!'... which I'll admit is the only line I remember from that particular play, because it was pretty boring.

But Marshall was pretty convincing, obviously- since I'm standing up here with him, dreading the moment when the stage lights blare up again. He told me how if he could trust anyone with this act, it'd be me- based on Diego's strong opinion that I'm a... what was it? 'Trustworthy girl.'

It's weird hearing that Diego talks about me, but I guess when you're a tribute in a Game to the death, you spend a lot of time talking about the people who might be the death of you.

Though Marshall seems fairly sure that he's made the right choice with me. There's not a line or a crease of worry in his expression, and if anything he looks like he's sitting on top of the world, tinkering with an automated speaker system and casting the occasional glance to the screen it's hooked up to.

His song is not one I have heard before- possibly because it might be one of his own- but Marshall was adamant that the prompter at the foot of the stage would be more than enough for me.

"_It'll be just like karaoke- only a lot more important, you get me?_"

Why exactly it's important I don't understand, except that he wants to get 'a message' across to this entire sponsor mixer not to overlook everyone for Natalia.

I should've said no. Heck, right now as I stand here I'm thinking I should turn around and say no. After all, I said I wouldn't play this game. But I can't- like declining this will be turning down an opportunity of rebellion. I read the lyrics and, though I don't understand them as well as I think I ought to, they somehow smack of defiance. They would be the perfect way to announce that I won't be willing to go along willingly with these games.

Even if this is just a way for Marshall to piss off Natalia, if I could reassure just one or two of the people in this room that I'm not just another tribute, then there's hope.

...though there's a very strong chance that all anyone will see is the girl whose underwear was showing on the chariot rides, and that everyone in this party is too boozed up to recognise an attempt at rebel commentary.

"Hey," Marshall catches my attention with a wave of his hand. "You ready Kori'?"

Already he's so easy with me that he uses a nickname. Swallowing the lump of nerves in my throat, I nod, and Marshall grins eagerly.

There's a click and a short buzz of electrical feedback as he hooks up his guitar. "Don't worry; I know what you're thinking- and it'll soon tell them what we're all thinking."

How the hell can he know what I'm thinking when I myself am struggling just to figure it out? Marshall grins coyly before flicking on the final switches and grabbing a microphone- commanding the attention of all the party goers who have remained in the room.

"Yo', hello everyone!" With a voice filled with promise, Marshall grins eagerly. "Marshall and Kori' here! Hoping you're all having fun here-!"

There's something in the way Marshall talks so confidently that says that he's done this many more times than I could possibly fathom. The crowd begins to swell around the stage, and here and there I begin to see and recognise faces. Corbin, Diego, Natalia...

-And even Iilvsea Crane and her goons...

"Now our dear Natalia- there she is! Say hi to Natalia! We all heard her wonderful song a couple of hours ago for those of you drunks who've forgotten. Now her song was _fantastic_- but I don't think it represents the rest of us tributes, 'ey? So Sector 8's Koriana Wilder will perform the song that's in the rest of our hearts!"

What the...? I can feel my eye twinge. Not only is he not letting me have a word in, he's talking in such a corny way! Can guys actually spout this sort of crap and mean it? Whatever the case, Natalia looks pretty pissed- and I can see smiles of delight spread across the rest of the crowd's faces.

...oh god... I better not screw this up...

"So, without further ado- Kori' – if you please-!"

Marshall jumps behind the keyboard before I can even realise. He spent a good minute telling me that the second his fingers hit the keys- I start. So I leap in, a good second before he even begins- wincing as I try to keep up with the fast paced piano keys that Marshall plays with more fluency than I could've believed-

_Once more in my chest, I offer up the sinking love,  
as if we're tied together, this story without a composer starts to turn_-

Breathing deep, I pray that I can continue this on without fail. '_Damon_... _Marabeth..._' I pray desperately '_Give me the power to sing this-!_'

_I struggle against this empty reality,  
the tune of recollections echoes behind the closed door.  
Destroying the vague borderline, the ideals I upheld by myself,  
they are memories of a definite sin that emerges in the distant dusk_

There's cheering. Even so, the fear of failing burns so hard that I can hardly stand to keep my eyes open. I shut them tight, trying to recapture that feeling of absolute certainty I had when I was just a child.  
If I can hold that certainty, I can do this. If I can do this, I can hold onto my resolution. I can fight these Games. I can stay true to what I promised.

_Hesitation and confusion reflect my weaknesses,  
the pulse of life withers away and collapses.  
On my return whose end I cannot see, I grieved in loneliness by myself.  
Drops of sin stream down my face, so much that my fears are about to flee._

_RELEASE IT-!_

In my head, I can hear Marshall egging me on. Damon and Marabeth plead me not to give up on myself. The cheers of the crowd become deafening as I finally gain the courage to open my eyes and sing the final lines- the true message- the tribute's real heart- to the entire world.

Let the Capitol hear it.

_While her eyes remained shut, the princess continued to sleep,  
even the voices of conviction and pain afflicting my body are dear._

_Over thousands of journeys, I came to save you-!  
I won't let this cruel fate interfere with our promised finale-!"  
If we can share this despair, then I'll trade everything I desire for that future-!"_

_The whispers of dreams is swallowed by shadows,  
the momentary prayer is wavering,  
what gushes forth is just a faded compensation; I only want your smile!_

_Ah, and embrace my entire heart...!_

...

As the final notes fly into a frenzy, Marshall amplifying my final, wavering note- I allow myself to truly open my eyes and face the crowd as they hear it...  
Most of them are smiling still. Some are wild for more. Several tributes and mentors are staring up in surprise- perhaps not understanding the flourish of the words. Natalia certainly doesn't look happy, not when Marshall looks down at her with a nasty sneer. I can barely keep myself from giggling- it's hard not to be happy- but as I continue to look around my eyes fall upon the one audience member I had forgotten completely about.

The Head Gamemaker, Iilvsea Crane... stares up at me... and no longer is she smiling. My heart freezes as I recognise her hands balled up into fists, and her teeth clenched together in what might've been anger, had there not been tears streaming down her face in what could only be sheer agony.

"...what...?"

...Slowly, I begin to think the unbelievable...

If... a song like this could upset her so much... which of its words could possibly... upset Iilvsea Crane this much...?

**

* * *

**

_Laco Sykora; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 5._

I had thought that Ari would have cheered up slightly after Natalia was trumped by her Sector partner, but if anything, Marshall's song has just caused her to sink deeper into the melancholy that is surrounding her.  
There's nothing I can do to help. I've accepted this, and as much as it pains me to see a girl who I want to see smile so upset, I won't force her to be happy when she clearly isn't.

"Would you like another drink?" I suggest after a few moments of silence, pointing to an Avox holding aloft a tray of fruity red drinks. "It uh... might take your mind off things?"

Ari says nothing. Instead she just continues to stare at her white heels, deep in thoughts I couldn't ever hope to penetrate- no matter how hard I might try to be someone she can rely on without fail.  
Perhaps this sort of level of devotion unsettles her. Either that or she's having second thoughts about our alliance... which wouldn't surprise me. Though I stood up for her so boldly back in the training room- she could easily dismiss that as an elaborate front...

I learned long ago that there is no way of convincing a girl of your honest feelings if they believe otherwise. After trying and failing, I learned the hard way. And to be completely honest, I'd rather not go down that road again when I have imminent death staring me in the face.

"...do you want me to leave you alone?"

The Capitol idol jerks up in surprise. "Huh? Oh, Laco no, no don't... I'm just... the song from before reminded me a bit too much about an old friend of mine..."

My eyebrow rises. "Would that be the one behind that dove tattoo?"

A stunned look upon her face, I try hard not to smile bitterly as her mouth sags a little in complete surprise at my accuracy. Though, in my defence, it was an obvious answer.

"How did you-?"

"Ari, you have a _tattoo _on your leg depicting the 'Dove of Peace'," I shake my head, acting insulted at her surprise. "I hardly have you picked as a rebel. It's for someone else who was, isn't it?"

It's the harshest thing I've said since meeting her. Though it didn't strike me while I said it that calling her 'not rebel material' could've insulted her, luckily all it did was make her look a little bit harder at her feet- her ankle- before looking back up at me blankly.  
Sometimes I wish I wasn't as intuitive as I am.

This isn't one of those times.

"...yeah... I'm not a rebel..." Ari's face sinks into a look of despair. "...not anymore."

"Anymore?" Quietly but gently, I begin to guide her over to a seat where we can talk comfortably. "When were you ever?"

Though she looks uncomfortable with the question, perhaps our slowly strengthening bond of alliance is growing on her- because Ari is actually answering my questions, as personal as they may be.

"You can't tell anyone," She begins, a little sternly. "My Dad would... oh what would it matter anyway... I guess you could tell anyone you damn well wanted... but... a long time ago I met... well I met this boy and... he was... he was a-"

"Rebel." I finish for her, earning a frown in response.

Continuing, she purses her lips a little. "Well, yeah. His name was 'Namer'... it means leopard..." Ari adds, going a little red realising how little this matters. "Well uh... I became friends with him after he ran into me and knocked me over... long story... but it turns out he... Namer..."

Never before have I seen someone having this much difficulty getting out words. Especially Ari, who always seemed so eloquent in her language up until now.

"...he was from District 13."

My body goes stiff with surprise. Staring at Ari, I wait for her to clear up the misconception- but she just sits there and waits for me to take it in.  
-She met a boy from _District 13? _She's kidding isn't she? My mouth opens and closes as I try to find the right words to make her confirm that mistake.

Slowly, the words come out in a slow string. "...but... District 13 was blown up... _a century ago_...?"

Ari shakes her head. "It wasn't."

My brain is spinning. Suddenly the story of Ari and her rebel friend doesn't matter. All I can focus on is this sudden onset of potentially nation destroying information. Every child in every school- District and Capitol alike- is raised to know the story about the origins of the Hunger Games. And it _always begins with the rebellion_- and ends with the destruction of District 13. They show the footage of the destroyed District every year! How could they fake something like that? There's just _no way_.

...but... but Ari can't be lying... the tears in her eyes and the seriousness in her voice... I refuse to believe that she could be lying about something this serious...!

"But they _said they destroyed District 13_." I begin desperately, wide eyed and blank. "What? The Capitol- the Capitol just _lied_?"

"Yes." Ari Saint-Claire says seriously, not skipping a beat. "They lied."

...

...but...

"...but why would they lie?"

That's when Ari finally shakes her head sadly. "I don't know. I never asked, and Namer said he didn't know."

Conflicting statements there, but I believe her when she says something while looking that desolate. Talking about this seems to be as painful for her as it is mind blowing for me to hear.

"Well... what happened to Namer?" I ask, leaning forwards in a whisper. "Why did you decide to stop being a rebel with him?"

Moments pass as Ari stares out across the dwindling crowd. The bulk of the party has long since gone home after midnight, and all that are left are the tributes, mentors and the fence-sitting sponsors. With a shaky sigh, she looks up from the crowd and back to me, eyes dead on mine.

"...they took him away Laco."

...lips trembling, Ari slowly begins to break at the shoulders- covering her face with her hands as droplets of tears begin to pull away the strong facade she had spent so long holding up these past few days. Frantic and unsure what to do- I put my arms around her, hushing her quietly as she begins to sob.

"...d-don't... don't leave me..." Her voice shatters into broken cries. "Please... d-don't be t-taken away too..."

Pressing my chin on top of her head, I close my eyes and continue to quietly hush her tears, holding her close to my heart.

"Shhh... I won't... not yet Ari..."

...but I will... someday... Ari, I have to leave you...

...because when we get into that arena... the moment it looks like death has come for you as well... I'll take him down instead for you... okay..?

"Shhh..."

**

* * *

**

**Capitol Question #012; do you think 'favouritism' towards tributes affects Gamemakers' judgements? Would it affect **_**you **_**if you were a Gamemaker?**


	38. End of the Celebration

**A Vivid Note: **We have finally reached the end of the night. The guests have gone home, the tables are being cleared, and our tributes eyelids are beginning to fall to the exhaustion. Which have won their sponsors, and which have lost all hope? I suppose that is for us all to ponder over.

Once again, I understand the desire to just leap forwards into the Games. But, as I promised, it is important to me to use each of these characters to the fullest. I hope you can continue to be patient with me as we wait out the final day... the interviews.  
This chapter wasn't my best work (_I think I was just eager to be done with the party_) but it's _done_. Haa. Satisfaction.

Ah, and also- as I neglected to mention it last chapter- the Capitol Games has its own TV Tropes page. Unsure of what that is? Please, for the love of your soul, Google it. It's a beautiful, simple site, and it's incredibly addictive. It swallowed me up in less than half an hour.  
Thank you to dearest Penelope Wendy Bing for creating a page for 'the Capitol Games'! It makes me wriggle excitedly in my seat to see so many tropes already piled under its name... and know that so many more will too.

**Capitol Question #013; what is your opinion on the cast of 'Capitolites'? Do you have a favourite? A least favourite? (Eg. Idola, Timoleon, Iilvsea, the escorts, the stylists etc.)**

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Brandit Gailer; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 6._

Staying up late wasn't ever something I did for fun. In fact, I'd usually be in bed by eleven at the latest, or else I wouldn't be able to wake up in time for my weights class. Without my sleep, I'd be easily angered and irrational- not to mention dizzy.

It's now almost one in the morning, and there's _still_ more of this party to go. I don't want to talk to Sienna or Baby about turning in early- neither of them has paid _any _attention to me all night- but being on my feet for so many hours on end is steadily taking its toll on me. Even Natalia, who has always been more preoccupied with her own issues, is starting to show concern for me.

"Let's sit down, okay?" She pulls me over by the sleeve towards a seat. "We can wait out the rest of the party. I think we've talked to as many sponsors as we possibly can."

Shaking my head, I groan quietly. "No... look, I can sit down by myself... you go... go enjoy the rest of tonight."

An expression of complete disbelief hooks Natalia's eyebrows. "Do you honestly believe I could _enjoy _this thing? Please, I'm bored. And besides, after Wilder and Matthew's little display- I'm ready to call this whole thing quits."

Even though I know that Natalia's determination wouldn't take a hit from something like that so easily, I appreciate this gesture all the same. She's the first person in these Games to actually give half a damn about me. Though everyone else seems to be cautious of her, I don't see the same Natalia Marinos that they all do.  
On the rooftop, I definitely had the impression that she was strong, and confident- but there's also that crack in the facade where she's like I am; terrified of what's going to come next.

Well, we're all terrified. I don't think anyone here is happy to be part of these Games... except perhaps the Gamemakers, escorts, stylists and the sponsors.

Although Sienna hates me beyond belief and openly wants me dead- I can tell she's not enjoying these Games. None of the mentors seem to be, except for the District 1 mentor Antony- who dances around the room dancing with the female tributes, laughing hysterically for no reason at all.  
It's funny, the difference between the mentors. There are those who are clearly not right in the head, snarling and grinning with sadistic pleasure at the idea of slaughter- and others who are so soaked in corn booze that whatever kind of person they were before has long been drowned.

Closing my eyes tight, I make a wish. _Please don't make me turn out like them_, I think desperately. _Please don't let these Games destroy who I am..._

"...this sure sucks, doesn't it?"

"Huh? Oh," I turn and face Natalia sitting on the other end of the seat, staring up at the ceiling; deep in thought. "Yeah... yeah it really does."

Natalia smiles ruefully before closing her eyes. Whatever is going through her head must be personal, because she hasn't looked me in the eyes for a couple of minutes. I watch quietly as her hand dips in and out of her clutch, touching something inside and then quickly withdrawing again- sort of like she doesn't realise what she's doing.

...and the longer she does it, the more I want to know what her fingers are so desperate to be searching for.

"Natalia? Uh... what are you doing?"

My voice brings the girl estranged from reality whooshing back, and her blue eyes flutter a little in surprise as she pulls her hand so quickly away from her clutch that her elbow painfully collides into my ribs. With a sudden groan I double over, holding my side as Natalia realises what she's done and begins to stammer apologies.

"I'm sorry Brandit! I _completely _tuned out there- are you okay?"

Hearing her sound so frantic after all the bad things I've heard about her makes me chuckle through the pain. "Y-Yeah... I'm fine... just gave me a bit of a jolt there..."

"That's... still... I'm sorry..." Her shoulders sinking, Natalia stares at the ground beneath my feet. "...I've just been preoccupied... after all; I've been trying so hard but... I don't know if I've done any good..."

"O-Oh..." Trying to smile, I wince. My side still smarts from her impact. "So... what's in the bag...? Unless it's embarrassing..."

Her hand which grips the bag twinges a little, but not a second of hesitation passes as she pulls out the crinkled white handkerchief- pulling it taut across her hands. Though it's small and almost escapes my sight; the little speckles of blood are crisp enough to notice on the otherwise white cloth.

Briefly looking at me, Natalia turns back to her hands. "My Mom she... she grabbed my hand so hard when they called my name that she broke the skin..."

"...Ouch." I say, wincing that I can't come up with anything better. "That must've been hard to walk away from..."

"It was." She doesn't look up from the handkerchief. "I can still hear her screaming... 'She's my daughter'... it's like a nightmare... except it happened... and it's real."

In the silence she looks at me, and I stare back, trying to hide the immense guilt and shame I feel as I'm forced to think of my own family and their reactions.

I don't know what to say, but I do what most would and weakly rub Natalia's shoulder. Either she doesn't feel it or she chooses to ignore this because she doesn't even flinch or acknowledge that I've touched her.  
There's nothing I can say that can take away that kind of pain. Hell, there's nothing anyone in this room can say aside from a Gamemaker cooing 'Alright, we'll let you go home.'

That's not about to happen. Not now after we've all come this far.

They're going to take us all the way to those little plates.

"Brandit... how did your family take you volunteering?"

Like a knife- her words slash apart the flesh what little peace I had left buried inside. Fighting hard against the thoughts that have pushed me to the brink of tears these past few days- the urge to start trembling and whisper the truth- I slowly open my mouth and let forth the lie.

"They understood... that it was something I had to do..."

My cheek aches as I see the tiny marks left on Natalia's wrists where her Mother had desperately clawed to keep her safe. Even as Natalia begins to speak of other things, the words just wash over me like empty foam.

...if Natalia won... her Mother would be there waiting with tear-stained face and open arms... but after betraying my friends... my family... if I somehow won...

...would anyone be waiting for me?

**

* * *

**

_Galaxy Jones; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 7._

"_Okay! I get it! I can't win this! If I'm going to die j-just kill me! JUST KILL ME!"_

I want to scream it; to grab fate by the legs and beg for this all to end. Just _kill me already_ world. Please don't make me be part of this show I used to enjoy. _Please _don't roll the cameras and force everyone in Panem watch as the girl named Galaxy burns out into a faded black hole of nothing.  
All this party has done has certified that no one believes I can live. No one, not even me, has any hope of my surviving these Games. Not one man or woman showed even a feigned interest that I stood a chance.

Having a gun put to my head and the trigger pulled would've been less agonising that tonight. Even with all the drama inlaid into this party- with Sectors 2 and 8 girls singing songs of potential controversy, both tributes of Sector 10 being carted away along with a badly wounded man, and even my Sector partner and the Sector 6 girl being taken back to their rooms before midnight- none of that distracted me from the heart-wrenching truth.

I don't stand a chance.

Britney and I spent the evening, clad in the best our stylists could summon for us, watching almost wistfully after the other tributes. Britney, with her tan skin and blonde hair- was dressed in a deep pink coloured dress- while I was wrapped up in what looked like a green towel from the bust to my knees.  
The Sector 7 stylists barely try. Ferroh would look ridiculous in that suit if he wasn't so naturally menacing. Although, I haven't seen him for most of this party- and there were words fluttering about that he turned in early.

That's the only good news I heard tonight, and I couldn't even _enjoy_ it.

"Galaxy...? What did you want to talk about?"

In this despair inside my head, I'd completely forgotten that Britney and I had walked away from the party to talk freely. My eyes reopen to the empty corridor we had strolled into, and a low, hot breath escapes me as I realise how glad I am to finally be away from that god awful party room.

"...I just wanted to get away from there," I admit slowly, leaning against a wall and slowly sliding to the ground. "All I could think about is what's... what's coming next."

And it's still all I can think about, only out here I feel a little less suffocated.

A tiny, weak laugh escapes Britney. "It's hard not to think about it... especially since I never really thought about dying until those reapings..."

I'm in complete agreement with her there; I never honestly believed I'd die at age sixteen. There we so many things I had planned, my rocks and precious stones museum, my stargazing camping trip, finishing school, buying a house... getting married... having kids...

Now all I have is some dirty arena where all that awaits me is death.

_And I don't even have a choice._

"...Britney... how do you... how do you think you're going to die?"

Within that tiny second, all of Britney's smile vanishes as I stare at her in waiting.

Her voice breaks a little as she looks back at me. "H-How do I... think it'll happen..?"

"Yeah." Strangely, I feel quite steady all of a sudden. "Do you think it'll be quick? Another tribute? Or a mutt? Or do you think it'll be something else... do you think you'll starve to death?"

"G-Galaxy-!" Britney suddenly looks desperate. "Let's not- I mean- you shouldn't think about that stuff right now!"

"Oh who are we kidding Britney, girls like us can't even get past the bloodbath..."

My chest feels tight. Without consciously realising it I begin to pull at my dress, desperately trying to tear it off with my hands in an attempt to breathe as everything begins to make sense in my head.

"L-Let's go back Galaxy," A hand takes mine, but I pull mine out of reach. "You're tired okay... everything will be okay in the morning-"

But I can't make sense of those words. The morning...? I only have two mornings left in my entire life... the world will only spin two more times for Galaxy Jones... two more... two more...

"...two more..."

Someone is pleading. Is it my subconscious, desperate for fate to reconsider this? I don't want to die after all... I want to live longer... burn brighter... why should I die at the hands of one of the others? I-It's not like they have the right to kill me... no one has the right to kill me... not Ferroh... not Natalia... not Britney...

No one _but me has the right to kill me_.

Suddenly my breath catches in my throat.

"That's it." I whisper, letting go of my dress. "That's it."

It was all so simple. Right from the start.

Once more, Britney takes form beside me. She's shaking with fear and panic- torn between me and running for help. But I don't care about that anymore.

I've been afraid all this time for no reason. Why was I so scared of being killed viciously by one of the other tributes? The fact I would die wasn't scaring me. It was the pain I didn't want to experience... the pain of giving up my life as a human super nova...

Gingerly stepping backwards, Britney watches me in fear. "Galaxy...?"

"Britney..." My body feels light. The words flow like a lucid script written for me so long ago I had forgotten. "...Britney... I don't have to be killed... I don't have to starve to death... I don't have to be hunted..."

The girl waits, both terrified and curious about my words. A smile I don't recognise breaks my fear and fills me with an indescribable pleasure as my epiphany unravels itself for me to fulfil.

"I can just _kill myself_."

With a squeak, Britney shakes her head furiously- her eyes wide with panic. "G-Galaxy, you're not thinking straight-! You can't-!"

But I am thinking straight. It is just her that doesn't understand.

"Yes I can." I'm positively breathless. I feel like floating. "Just step off the plate. All I have to do is step off the plate, and I can burst into that supernova... a human supernova..."

Horror spreads across Britney's body. Her arms go rigid and she reaches to grab me, but I pull away before she can, ready to discard the force that is holding me back from my universe.

"I was fooling myself when I asked you to be my ally Britney," I say, dazed. "I don't need allies. I don't need you. You'd only drag me down with your gravity."

"Galaxy!"

I'm done with this. No matter how much she cries, I know I've reached my fate.

"Goodbye Britney."

And without another word, I turn away from the Earth and towards the stairs, ready to face my final two mornings- and ready to ascend into the Heavens as the star I was always meant to be.

"GALAXY!"

**

* * *

**

_Vinel Greggorus; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 4._

"Hey, I don't want to leave you here either Cotton-ball, but Juan says that the stylists need me to take this pre-soak thing to get the pink off by tomorrow... you understand don't you?"

No matter what I say, Cotton doesn't remove her face from the folds of my shirt. Instead she buries in deeper, her thin, fragile arms holding me as closely as possible. I can feel her inhale deeply, and mumble nonsensical words about it all being 'unfair'.  
It's nothing she hasn't said yet tonight, but I still smile softly as she does. I guess if I didn't she'd accuse me of being heartless or not caring as much as she does.

Perhaps kissing her was a big mistake on my part. In the moment it seemed like the timing was right, but then again- I had completely forgotten about our circumstances. Pretty remarkable really, 'conveniently' having the fact we're going to be fighting for our lives in a little more than twenty-four hours slip my mind.

If only I could do it again. Maybe then I'd enjoy having a cute girl snuggling up against me. Sadly though, it's ingrained into my brain and there's no way of getting rid of it now.

Loud enough for just me to hear, Cotton moves her mouth away from the fabric. "...I don't wanna leave you yet..."

Her voice reveals a side of weakness I never saw before in her. It pulls at my heart as she looks up at me with her eyes sparkling with the beginnings of tears, and for the first time I recognise that her eyes are two very different colours. One brown, one blue.  
I hadn't realised until now. I've unwittingly begun a relationship with a girl I barely know.

Gently, I place a hand upon her forehead, smiling as she continues to look dejected. "I don't either Cotton... but after tonight, all we'll have together will be the interviews."

That's right. Only the interviews left until this world crumbles away into the Games. Then I can't guarantee that Cotton and I will have any time together. After all, couples in the Hunger Games never share too many happy moments before one is slaughtered before the other.

But as nice as this is, I _need _to have this color bleached off me. If I don't, I'll be going into an arena with bright pink skin- and for camouflaging purposes that'd be a fatal move to make.

Plus I really hate looking like this stupid pink marshmallow.

"Um... m-maybe... if you... you wouldn't mind..."

Cotton's words stammer and stumble as she tries to overcome the alcohol fuelling her system. I wait patiently as her eyes shift in embarrassment around my chest and her hands tighten against the fabric of my suit.

"...I could... come to your room... tonight..."

Huh-!

As nature's urges make themselves known, I push Cotton away so she won't be alerted to them. In her drunken state, this only makes her look saddened- but I quickly hold her by the shoulders, staring at her with an intense seriousness.

"Are you... you know what that means right?"

With a shy nod that's so unlike the boisterous girl I've been getting to know over the past few days, I can feel my mouth grow wet with saliva and my fingers dig into her arms.  
I'd be a complete liar if I said I didn't want this. No, a _colossal _liar. After all, it's been a while- and this could very well be the last chance I get to sleep with a girl.

-But something about this feels wrong, with her being drunk and vulnerable- and possibly not knowing exactly what she's offering while in this state...

"I-It's okay... it's not like... it's my first time..." Her eyes find mine, and she smiles in a jittery way. "I've had boyfriends before... I just... think it'd be nice if we... you know..."

Yeah, it'd be nice. It'd be _very _nice. Although something is still nagging me in my head, and for some reason I think of Minerva. Quickly enough I brush her out of my mind, but that doesn't change the fact that Cotton is pretty drunk and she'd be bound to make me pay for it tomorrow.

...although... if I did do this... maybe it wouldn't make her mad... it might just be what she wants... I mean, look at her- staring at me with those shy, embarrassed eyes. If this were a normal party I wouldn't even be thinking about this- we'd already be stripping off and in a flurry of bed sheets and limbs by now.

-But this isn't a normal party.

And tomorrow is a very important day, for both of us. Even if I'm not sure that I'm in love with this girl, that doesn't mean I should jeopardise both our chances at those interviews just so I can have sex tonight.  
Although it's a risk I'd _really _like to take- since I don't think either of us is really caring about pregnancy right now- I know better than that.

I wasn't raised by two women just to end up not respecting them all.

Swallowing, I feel my brain aching as I shake my head. "Sorry Cotton... we... we really shouldn't. We've got a huge day tomorrow... and I don't think you're in the best frame of mind right now..."

She looks down, almost ashamed. Although I place my hand against her flushed cheek and smile in a feeble effort to soften this, Cotton looks like she's about to cry at any second now.

And as much as I shouldn't... I really have to go now.

"...I'll... I'll try and see you tomorrow before the interviews, or after, yeah?" I pull her into a hug and squeeze her reassuringly, but the girl doesn't hug me back. "I'm sorry Cotton... but... I'll try, yeah...?"

"...yeah..." Her voice is quiet, but stable. "That's okay Vinel... um... I hope the bleaching works..."

As my hands let go, almost immediately the warmth of Cotton vanishes from me. And as I turn to walk away and find my stylists and start the treatment, I catch Cotton's agonised expression in the corner of my eye.

...no matter what I do... I'm a bad person in all this... aren't I?

**

* * *

**

_Britney Frailer; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 9._

My lungs are shrivelling up. I grip the stairwell's railing and fight hard to regain back my regular breathing, but each inhale is shorter and shallower than the last as tears invade my eyes and pour down my cheeks.

I'm all alone. The only ally I had has just thrown me aside in order to suicide leap off her plate- ultimately leaving me behind to be mercilessly killed in her wake.  
What did I do to deserve this fate? Was it because of how I treated my little sisters, or because I had taken my life for granted so long? I wish I knew why. Perhaps then I could accept this rather than sob at the bottom of the stairs after a girl I had thought would be my friend in all this.

But I don't, and standing here struggling not to cry is all I can manage right now.

Going back to the party would be too painful at this stage. Most of the people were leaving when Galaxy and I snuck away to talk, so by now the place is probably empty. I'm going to get scolded by Frilli for leaving without asking. I don't think could deal with getting yelled at right now, not after losing my only hope in all this.

Shrinking down to my knees, I stare dejectedly at the first step that leads up to the second floor. If I were to take these stairs, I'd be right back on the same floor of the party hall. There are several twists and corridors, probably to dissuade the sponsors not to go wandering... as well as the tributes.  
I guess it didn't really work, for me to be sitting here in tears, rather than up at that party. Maybe if I hadn't said yes to Galaxy's walk, she never would've... broken our alliance...

No. I shake my head of that frail thought. What's the point of thinking about what would've been? All that matters now is what is... and what _is _right now is me, all alone.

..._what am I going to do_?

"Do you have any idea what sort of paperwork is going to have to be filed because of this?"

Ah-! I jolt to attention, practically pinning myself to the stair as I hear the voices coming from the hallway outside. I can hear something dragging along the squeaky clean surface and a girl struggling to continue screaming. There's a snarky sort of sigh that follows and two separate male voices that chime-

"Ehh? Why should we worry about that? We only did what was necessary."

The first voice, deep and growling, answers. "Yeah, pulverising to the point of liquefying the girl was _necessary_. Why did you just shoot her in the head for Christ's sake-?"

A horrible squealing sound interrupts him, but someone curses- the girl yelps and resumes whimpering quietly. I can hear a girl laughing softly as the girl continues to cry.

"Is that what you'll be doing to this one then?" She pauses as the girl heaves again. "Oh come on sweetheart, if we did this to Sugar did you really think we'd let you get away any better off if _you saw her?_"

-W-What's going on out there? I steady my breathing and lift myself off the floor. My dress is dirtied with dirt and grime from the unused stairwell, but I don't care. What on Earth is happening out there...?

Slowly and steadily, as the group continues to talk- unaware of me listening- I ease myself over to the doorway and peer through the crack. Though it's a bit hard to see at first, my eyes focus and I begin to recognise the scene before me.

Three Gamemakers, including Iilvsea Crane and those twins of hers, are standing and talking to the largest Gamemaker- the one with ram horns. He holds a gold-coloured girl by the collar of her dress, who is weakly trying to squirm away from him. And- as I look closer- away from the bag one of the twins is dragging... a stained burlap sack...

...with... with hair sticking out... of the mouth of it...

I try and will myself not to be sick.

The Gamemakers are _killing_ party guests?

"Iilvsea I know you're doing the job thoroughly, but don't go so blasted overboard-!" The large man quakes with fury. "The President only covers our asses if it's necessary-!"

Iilvsea holds her hands out and shakes her head, smiling. "Oh he'll cover our asses just fine, trust me. We'd really have to massacre the population before anything would happen."

"Well thanks to tonight, you've started on your way there," He growls, staring down at his captive. "I was hoping not to have to get my hands dirty again this soon."

...again? Did he just say _again_?

One of the twins leans in close to whisper something the girl, but she waves him away quickly. Instead she too focuses on the girl held firmly by the man- _Aries_, that's his name- who is looking up at them in pure horror.

"You did worse back in the day, I'm sure." Iilvsea's smile pulls across her face. "Now how should we get rid of you, our little vermin?"

The girl stiffens. Suddenly, her whimpering dies away as her hands ball into fists upon the carpet as she stares at the bloodied burlap sack.

"You... you call us vermin...?" Her face scrunches up in agony as Aries lifts her higher. "At... at least we have something we're willing to fight for! At least we have a shred of humanity left in us-!"

I watch in awe as the girl begins to shriek.

"YOU'RE THE VERMIN!" She spits desperately, thrashing about for Iilvsea's leg. "YOU CAN'T USE A PERSON'S LIFE AS A TOY YOU _MONSTERS_-!"

And in the flash of an eye, Iilvsea's smile splits clean across her face.

"_REALLY?_"

It happens so fast that the crack sounds before I even see the man throw his arm back. I stifle my scream with my fist as the girl's head smashes against the marble- splitting open and trailing down the wall as she falls to the floor with a lifeless flump. Aries clenches and unclenches his hand as Iilvsea begins to giggle uncontrollably.

"Idiot woman." She breathes heavily, placing a hand over her chest. "It always makes my heart beat fast when they get all riled up like that."

"Does paperwork make that heart of yours flutter then?" Aries growls while pulling the girl's body to her feet by her hair. "Because now we've got twice as much. Two corpses to account for in just one night. Fan-freaking-tastic."

The twins shrug just as Iilvsea had done earlier. "Just let the media deal with it. There's only one way that this would all get out otherwise."

Aries' lip pulls up in annoyance. "What? You think _I'm _going to go telling people about our slaughter of protestors?"

With a coy shake of their heads, the twins lean in close to Iilvsea and face her in my direction. As my eyes widen- I realise with absolute horror that all their eyes are suddenly focused directly on mine.

"Only if Miss Frailer over there decides to _tell on us_~!"

**

* * *

**

_Marshall Matthews; 14 years; the Capitol Sector 2._

Somehow this place looks even bigger now that it's almost completely empty. With all those people in the way, everything had seemed cramped together for the sake of cocktail dresses and expensive suits. Perhaps if I was prone to claustrophobia tonight would've been a hell of a lot harder to struggle through.  
After hours on my feet, 'exhausted' can no longer fully express how I feel. So I sit here with Diego- Sector 8 being the only other team not to have gone back to their floor yet- neither of us talking because of the weariness we're both feeling.

Poor Diego though, I'm not sure why or anything, but the sheer amount of men schmoozing up to him was jaw dropping. Does he give off some sort of homo vibe or something that I'm not picking up?

I'm confident that I pulled a fairly good haul of sponsors. Everyone seemed to think I was a charmer, and Mars even mentioned that I had hooked some old aristocrat who's somehow connected to the Vice President Mortar. That really blew me away.  
In terms of sponsors, I'm floating on the top- especially since the performance with Kori from Sector 8.

I wonder if I thanked her for that. If I can remember correctly, she dove off that stage pretty quickly once we were done; I didn't exactly get a chance to. Although Kori claimed to have no experience singing, she was actually pretty good. Seeing that look on Natalia's face, and her new pet dog Brandit's- it was _well_ worth all the trouble.

Even now she looks like someone has trod on her foot. Natalia is slumped over a nearby table; arms folded and her legs tucked under the tablecloth as she buries her face in her arms. Her lackeys have all been taken away and tucked into bed, so I guess she's feeling lonely with her crew to boost her up.

Seeing her like this only makes me smirk more into the back of my hand. It's always gratifying to see karma slowly take its vengeance on pretentious girls like Natalia Marinos. As the Games go on, I'm sure I'll be allowed to enjoy even more of these subtle moments... at a safe distance of course.

-Obviously she's going to try and kill me the first chance she gets.

Me on the other hand... well, I'd rather let her stew for a week before driving anything into that flat chest of hers...

"Diego? It's time for us to go home- ah... I mean... back to the rooms..."

When I look up, Kori looks both saddened and embarrassed by her minor slip up. Diego rises to his feet, offering me but a short nod as a goodbye. I raise two fingers and give him a curt salute- and then flash a quick grin of appreciation at Kori.  
She doesn't smile, but she bows a little like a maid might at the end of a shift. A little taken aback, I watch in mild confusion as the two turn their backs on me and walk in silence towards their escort and mentor waiting by the entrance door for them.

Hm. It must be nice being Sector partners and not clawing at one another's throat at any given moment. Then again, I doubt either of them gave the other the death glare when they stood up on stage together at the reapings.

Out of all the Sectors, I think Sector 8 is definitely one of the friendliest I've met.

Although, my biggest rivalry seems to be between Natalia and I, so that might say something about which Sector is the least friendly.

_Mine._

"How are you going kid?"

Although Mars' voice doesn't sound all that concerned, from the way his brows are knotted I can tell he is. I can't really explain it, but the two of us seem to be on the same wavelength as one another. That's why he seems to favour me, and why I like him so much.

"I'm going fine," I say dully, staring across the room where Kori and Diego disappeared. "Pretty tired though."

Mars smiles with a small sigh. "Not surprised at all. I'm a little relieved that I didn't have to go through all this when I was going into the Games."

"Oh?" That surprises me. Then again, I was only two when this guy won- so I don't know anything about his Games really. "But don't you have to go to a lot of parties since you're a victor and all?"

This causes the man to grimace a little. "Tch... yeah, okay- you got me. Luckily emphasis has slowly been drawn away from me over the years, what with people like Antony winning."

Antony is the mentor for Sector 1 if I can remember right. He won two years ago- and I remember how terrifying that man's smile was on the final day. He was drenched in blood as if it was sweat, with an animalistic grin that made even my Father pull back into the couch in fear.  
It's not uncommon for victors to be terrifying- after all, they're murderers- but usually when they're out of the arena, and they go through the process of really 'winning', they revert back to a fairly normal state. But I saw Antony tonight, and the way he sauntered and swayed through the room was not of a sane man.

Nor was the way he looked at us tributes like we were meat.

"We'll be heading back to the room in a minute kid." The sound of Mars' voice brings me back. "I won't see you much tomorrow before the interviews, so is there anything you want to ask me while there's time?"

I wasn't expecting him to ask me that. What on Earth could I possibly need to know for tomorrow? Interviews shouldn't be anything too difficult if I survived tonight without so much as a problem... but the way the guy is looking at me it's obvious he doesn't want to walk away from here without giving it his all.

After all- my winning or losing will affect him too; as a mentor... and somewhat of a friend as well.

"Yeah Mars, I have one question for you."

He waits. As I unfold my arms, I feel that hint of a smile that's been dogging me all night finally fade away into a serious expression. Somehow knowing that Natalia can't be bothered listening; I don't worry about her petty judgement.

So I ask the one thing I've always wanted to know.

"What was it like... hearing the trumpets blare... realising that you won?"

And the one thing that only one of us tributes will experience.

The world of Mars and I goes quiet, and for a long time we sit as he fixates on a present located twelve years ago, finding the answer to a question he doesn't want to answer for someone as ignorant as me.

His mouth opens, and the words come out muttered.

"It was like nothing I'd ever felt before."

With eyebrows raised, I rest my head back upon the heel of my palm. "Really? I'd have thought you'd have said something more painful."

...Mars looks at me. Something deep inside my chest stirs from its sleep and begins to awake as the crowned victor of the 113th Games stares into the depths of me, dispelling all of my confidence with nothing but a brutal honesty that only he could understand.

"It's a pain reserved for only the real loser of the Hunger Games."

...

My hand drops to the table before I even realise that I've begun to tremble. Though his face is as steady as it has always been, I can see the makings of the torture going on behind his irises.

...and for the first time, all my dislike and rebelliousness fails me as I watch the light catch on the droplet that falls from Natalia's cheek and to the table.

There has never been a victor in these Games.

_ And this Game will be no different._

**

* * *

**

_Vince Bryant Pace; 12 years; the Capitol Sector 11._

It's a relief for that party to be finally over. Never before has a night felt like it went for weeks rather than hours. Not even hearing Cotton return late to her room snivelling was enough to make up for it.

I should make a note not to attend too many of these when I'm part of the Victors' circle. It'd be much easier just to stick to a quiet life of fame as the lone Capitol victor.

Well, once I'm done with killing my Mother of course.

Once I reached my room it was all I could do to make it to the bed. Tonight has been a huge strain on my body and my mind- having to keep up this act for so long is a complete pain. I almost can't wait for the Games when I can drop it entirely and let the charade finally pass.

Being a liar in the Games never appealed to me anyway. However lying _before _the Games is something that everyone does, so it doesn't bother me at all.

Surprisingly enough, I have plenty of sponsors because of this defenceless child front I have going. Of course I only need them to consider me now- because when the later stages of the Games roll around they'll reconsider me again, delusional that inside I'm still that sweet, naive child they met tonight- burdened with the insanity of the Games.

Sponsors are delusional like that.

The biggest pain of tonight though was the time I had to spend with Liotta. With her looking like Lily as much as she does- it's doing things to my brain that would be fine had she looked like _anyone else_. The facade I have been playing so long with Lily just naturally comes back around Liotta.

This is why I spent most of the Gamemakers' speeches doing my best not to whirl around and do away with her right then and there- just to be rid of her. Luckily the Gamemakers' speeches were interesting enough to keep me entertained, but not enough for me to change my opinion of any of them.

At no point did I hold much respect for the Gamemakers. After all, they're only cowards who use a medley of machines and computer systems to kill off random tributes in order to keep the crowd pleased. After tonight however, my opinion of them has dropped into sub-zero respect.  
Not one of them deserves to kill any of us, the pack of imbeciles. I have a sneaking suspicion the only reason that blue-haired girl is on the team is because she has the blood of Seneca Crane in her veins- and the rest of them; equally pathetic. I watched as the Crane girl had her tears wiped away by one of the twins- the other nowhere to be seen- as he whispered something quietly and she began to shake her head in desperation. Something in the performance had set her off.

Weak. I had bitten down hard on my tongue to keep from glaring too hard and alerting Liotta to my feelings. Imagine it; Gamemakers building friendships over their coward's excuse of a job. Ha.

...Unlike them, I have a purpose to slit these tributes throats. Their deaths will serve to further my vengeance- warning my Mother of what's to become of her once I come home, and avenging my Father's death at her hands.  
She had no right to kill him, but by doing so she has given me the right to kill her.

And kill her I shall.

I can sort of imagine that my Father wouldn't be overly thrilled with the idea of me slaughtering my Mother- he _was _in love with her, despite her betrayal- but there's no way he could blame me for this hatred. It's only natural of course, to hate a murderer who spent so long denying who she was.  
When I murder, everyone will know it was me. I won't shy away from my deserved title. Why not take pride in something you can do well after all?

Stretching leisurely on my bed, I try to imagine the look on her face when I first kill a tribute. Will it be of shock? Terror? Fear? Or perhaps she's already done away with herself in an attempt to avoid the justice I want to bring to her.

Certainly hope not.

It's getting late, and tomorrow is the last day I have to spend pretending like this. I decide it'd be best to fall asleep now to reach that day sooner- rather than lie awake musing over the pains of having to pretend tonight.

With the light off, my mind flares awake with the thoughts of the other tributes.

This is our second last night before the Games takes hold of each and every one of us. How many more of them are like me- eager and ready for their part in this Quell? Are there any? And of course, how many are terrified out of their wits... praying to a God who mustn't be listening to spare their tiny fragment in existence called a life.

An amusing thing to think about, but it doesn't really matter after all.

Wriggling into the covers, I pull it up past my chest and let my arms lie on top of the quilt top, staring up in the inky blackness where the ceiling must stare back at me- imagining what arena my true self will be unveiled in. Though I try to imagine it, all I can see is more of the same blackness, taking hold and enveloping tribute after tribute- seeking yet never finding me as I too push the others into its grip.

...she is snared by darkness' fingertips, and she cries for me to save her- holding out her hand for me to pull her to safety with me.

But I just stare back at her and feel a smile creep across my face as her arm is swallowed up by the death that I promised her.

_Goodnight Mother. Wherever you are._

_

* * *

_**Capitol Question #013; what is your opinion on the cast of 'Capitolites'? Do you have a favourite? A least favourite? (Eg. Idola, Timoleon, Iilvsea, the escorts, the stylists etc.)**


	39. The Victors' Perspective

**A Vivid Note: **Through a revised decision, there will only be _one _more chapter after this until the Games begin. The wait is almost at its end, and I would like to apologise and thank you for suffering through that wait. This chapter is shorter than others- each perspective is only 400 words a piece- since there are twelve perspectives this chapter- but I hope you enjoy seeing through the eyes of the mentors.

Also, **thank you**, I have been given a stunning surprise by winning '_Best SYOC_' story for the Winter Hunger Games Awards. I have only gotten this far because of the remarkable acceptance and response for my alternate universe, and I can only hope that you enjoy yourself as more of it is revealed.

Slight **warning**- the language is _much_ coarser in this chapter because... well these characters are a lot coarser than the tributes, and for fair reasons. I am well aware that the books contain no swearing- but remember- _this is not from the books_. I have a very different style from Collins.  
Also, I am aware the focus is taken off the tributes for this. Please resist from saying 'I wish I could've seen the interviews-' because this is basically what it was. Normal interviews, being recalled by the mentors who sat through them.

Finally, I'm not overly thrilled with my work this chapter. I'll make it up to you soon.

**Capitol Question #014; which mentor do you like/dislike/fear/pity the most?**

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

** The Capitol Games**

_Antony Cross; 20 years; District 1; Victor of the 123__rd__ Hunger Games._

I couldn't be more pleased with the tributes that fate tossed into my lap. While I was initially displeased, they've proven to be more than amusing enough to satisfy my... needs.

Liotta is laughably pathetic. It's as if she had been given no chance right from the word go- a delightful change from the usual self-righteous bitches from District 1. With those white wings of purity and the delightful handicap of being twelve- she hasn't got a _hope_ to survive in these Games.  
Even her interview reeked of that futility. Those stammers and the constant tugging of that little lace dress- I could barely keep from laughing~! You can almost _see _the blood spraying out of every orifice when you look at that girl. Just _roll over and die,_ sweetheart!

However... Jason is a completely _different _story.

Right from the word go I knew he would bring me the entertainment I crave each year. Something about him _promised _me satisfaction, and in him fate has delivered me something I never thought I would find, not in my wildest of crazed dreams-

Fate has given me _my ideal toy~!_

It took quite a bit of effort to draw out his inner beast, but I caught more than a glimpse of it in the dining hall that morning. The way his eyes went wild with manic hatred- it just made my blood rush with adrenaline. And the way he pulled those wings out of his back- just to defy us-! My heart was rattling so hard in my chest I wanted to push him down right then and there to thank him for such a wonderful display!

His interview was far more enjoyable than hers. However hearing him speak of his 'Amethyst' made my smile vanish slightly. A girl will do neither him nor me much good in the long run. 'Love' only gets in the way of a victor- and Jason will learn that quickly should he reach that true potential. Sweethearts are always the first to go after winning.

After all, the Capitol doesn't want _anyone _standing in the way of whoring out their beautiful victors. It's bad for business! And role-playing. The little bracelet that has been wrapped around his wrist all this time will prove to be just another barrier to crash through to the Capitol.

-And I think I'm finally beginning to why they go to such lengths for their whores, for the psychopaths and murderers that reach a level of god just by slaughtering a few tributes. Why they go so far as to blackmail them with taking out their friends and family as collateral. Should my delicious little plaything succeed- I certainly wouldn't wish to share him with some 'bitch back home'. With my winnings I could afford to buy him every night for the rest of his life~! Or mine, depending whether or not he lives through my desires.

That's how the Capitol men and women thought of me, wasn't it~?

No matter how these Quell ends- win or lose- I'll see to it that only I can enjoy my newest plaything. Either I enjoy this boy, or he dies and no one does. Either way, I'm still a victor.

This Quell will satisfy me, regardless the outcome~!

Heheheheh...

**

* * *

**

_Mars Donovan; 29 years; District 2; Victor of the 113__th__ Hunger Games._

Each year it has been the same, for the past twelve years. A strong boy, seventeen or eighteen, would raise his hand and roar over the rest before climbing those stairs. He was always a volunteer, with little to no distinguishable traits or personalities between him and those before him.  
During training he's usually score an 8 or a 9, and he'd talk to me as if we were equals, as if he'd already won.

And each year- he would pay the price for his arrogance- and be killed.

Marshall Matthews is not one of those boys.

At first he was a little similar. He was confident... cocky, and had a mischievous sort of grin that never vanished- no matter how hard Natalia fought back. However, over these past few days I've been seeing new similarities between him and I that have begun to terrify me.

First was the tricky grin. It's more than a smirk to irritate his competition; Natalia in particular. It's an easy thing to distinguish if it never disappears; it's no longer an expression, it's a mask.

Second were the displays of flashy acrobatics. Initially it was easy to cast them aside as a hobby- but they were pulled off with such calculation and finesse it was clear that these feats were not done out of enjoyment. No one hones a skill like that for their amusement these days; only for necessity.

Third and finally, was the simplest sign of all that Marshall was not like the others.

And that was the scars.

When they were brought up in the interview, it was simple enough for him to pretend they were from a failed back-flip off of a flight of stairs. It allowed him to portray himself as gutsy, rather than a victim- which was a smart move. I remember watching him lie in wonder, as Natalia watched him from her seat, jaw clenched.

She can see it too, but unlike me- she needs to worry about it. Their rivalry is no secret, and even the betting tables are aware of it. Gamblers have placed the odds in Natalia's favour- due to word getting out about her 'Capitol-Career' alliance.

But those odds might have changed drastically since the interviews. While Natalia had done the intelligent thing and used the interviews to raise the sympathy factor- Marshall had stunned the City Circle and cemented in my fears with his final statement.

_"If you do manage to return home, what will be the first thing you'll do?"_

It was a simple question. It has been asked dozens of times before, to tributes who would never be able to fulfil their promises. However Marshall Matthews- with that smirk still on his face- coolly answered-

_"Kill my Father, of course."_

...it's no wonder I saw so much of myself in him. It's as if I were looking through a time machine at the old Mars Donovan, grinning with pride and excitement at the thought of finally ending his torment at the hands of his Father.

Unaware of the pain patricide would bring him.

I've seen enough pain in my lifetime. I pray to whatever the hell is pulling the strings up in the heavens to spare Marshall Matthews the agony I went through.

The world doesn't need any more Mars Donovans.

**

* * *

**

_Ava Gardener; 45 years; District 3; Victor of the 97__th__ Hunger Games._

Against my better judgement, I've grown to like my two tributes. It's hard not to- when they're such a pleasant change to the sobbing, broken children I'm given each year. For the first time in decades, I have a pair of kids who smile as if they truly believe they have a chance.

Francesca and Holland are easily identifiable as Capitol children, what with her curled purple hair and his unnaturally perfect skin. Neither of them has seen the pain or suffering of the world like I have. I suppose that's why they can smile and shine so brightly where real District 3 children only burn out.

They're likable. Almost too likable. At first I thought it had to be some kind of ploy cooked up by the two of them, until I saw them together at the party. Either they're genuinely caring people, or they're the best liars I've ever seen.  
Letting them drink was a big mistake on my part though. While Francesca was more than able to twirl about in her lavender dress of silk and frills, Holland could barely keep his head on his shoulders. Even as the day progressed- his hang-over didn't disappear. It was almost agonising watching him try and answer his questions without cringing in pain from the noise all around him.

Even for all the Capitol's medical technologies and wonders- there still isn't a decent hang-over cure for rookie drinkers. Holland should be better come tomorrow morning, hopefully.

...however... it's not like it'd do much difference for the poor boy.

I was able to realise something very important from the sponsors who talked to me- and that was that none of them were interested in the boy. It was almost unanimous that Francesca was far more appealing as a tribute- what with her flowery attitude and gleaming smile- and while Holland remains the most... feminine male candidate of these Games... that's not exactly a coveted title.

-No one believed me when I said they were just friends. Apparently things are just more exciting when everyone is secretly in love with each other. Hearing that only makes me wonder back to my Games- about how many of the others I was paired up with during its run.

...

I want to believe that they'll win. That somehow Holland and Francesca will succeed together- and both return home. They were heard talking of that possibility on their first day, or so said their stylists. How sweet it would be if both these kind, charming children could return home safely?

...but... as hard as I try... I can't believe it for myself.

Not everyone can be like me. Not everyone can win through pure luck and chance, stumbling aimlessly through an endless forest as the others drop dead around you. Things were different back then. I didn't have Iilvsea Crane behind the controls of my torment.

If I had to guess... Holland will not make it past this Game's bloodbath.

...and Francesca will soon follow...

And what little hopes I have will come crumbling down with them.

**

* * *

**

_Juan Olivier; 22 years; District 4; Victor of the 119__th__ Hunger Games._

There is something that I seem to be continuously forgetting about the Games and the Capitol, and that is that _no one _cares for sentiment. Not a single damn person.

It's all for the sake of appeal to them. If a tribute is fighting for the winnings to save their dying parent- the crowd will moan and sigh for the pitiable child. '_They're so brave!_' they always cry, '_Fighting for such a wonderful cause!_'  
This is exactly the same for Minerva. When she sat on stage and had her hand held up by Idola for the crowd to ogle- her face went a deep crimson as she talked of her fiancé back home. The sadness in her voice was heard by every member of the crowd and was met with a chorus of cries and cheers.

-But they don't really care. I know that, and perhaps Minerva will too should she survive all this. Her marriage is the equivalent of a dying parent- a factor that, were she living in a fairytale, would exempt her from pain and suffering. After all- what thinking, _feeling _human being would tear apart such darling lovebirds?

Wake up. Fucking _wake up _to reality. That's what I wanted to scream at her as she whispered her hushed gratitude to the crowd. This isn't a fairytale. This is isn't a story where she is the heroine. Minerva Nanaia is just another person in this sick shard of consciousness called _reality_. The sooner she and the rest of those children fighting for causes realise it- the better.

It was almost a relief to have her return to her seat and have Vinel captivate the audience with hollow, generic flirts; giving me time to compose myself again rather than lose myself to the anger at the ignorance burning all around me.

Yeah, they're good kids for Capitol children; Minerva and Vinel. Minerva more so, I guess. There was no crying and wailing at our dining table- the only acting out being Minerva's flight after she scored less than Vinel.  
I'm glad. After four years of overzealous career girls and boys- convinced they were going to be the next celebrated victor- it's a welcome change to have _humble _tributes for once.

But I don't like them any more or less than all the others. Because, as I said before, there's no escaping the reality. They're just pieces in yet another Game- just as I had been and hundreds more would be.

Sure, it's nice to think that when you have a cause... that means you're entitled to the victory more than someone who doesn't. But that's not true, and it never has been. If it were, we'd be living in a far better world than this.

_"J-Juan... what are you saying-?"_

I learned the hard way. Now all I can do is sitting on the sidelines like the waste of space I am- screaming inside my head for everyone else to realise it before it's too late.

No one ever hears though.

I doubt anyone ever will.

**

* * *

**

_Vernon Alistern; 52 years; District 5; Victor of the 91__st__ Hunger Games._

After years of drinking in the Capitol, one would think I'd stop getting my hopes up about the wines and drugs, but I always do. Every single damn year I lie on that piss-stained couch thinking 'I miss the Capitol shit.', only to be disappointed by the after effect when I _do _get my hands on it.

That's the only way to enjoy a Game; drunk, stoned and shit-faced. Otherwise it's just more of the same thing. Kids killing other kids, animals killing kids, 'natural' disasters killing kids- it gets boring. I can't even enjoy a suicide anymore, it's that predictable.  
How the Capitol and the career districts can still get a kick out of this is beyond me. They might as well watch the same Games year after year- there's no bloody change between them.

I suppose I can't say that now, since this Game is undoubtedly the most different of all. For the first time- in a move that shocked everyone to their core- the Capitol is sending its own offspring into the arena to battle it out. While this drew a lot of celebration in the Districts and cries of mutiny in the Capitol- I couldn't care less.

Just more of the same, to me anyway. It'll just be like last year, and the year before, and the year before- only these kids have rainbow coloured hair and alterations that would make the Almighty cry in anguish.

Apparently I'm meant to be excited, because one of my tributes is some Capitol starlet. As always, I sized her up like all the others, but I couldn't really see anything remarkable about her- the amazing 'Ari Saint-Claire'. She looked just like all the other girls of her stature to me; self-righteous whores.

However the boy irritates me. While I don't mind when I have a half-decent tribute pushed my way- it means more perks for me, more money hence more booze- but I absolutely fucking hate it when they're a brainless idiot.  
Sykora might as well be a neutered puppy humping the shit out of Saint-Claire's leg. While the romance card plays well with others- it does nothing whatsoever for me. Faking a romance gets in the way of more important things- like scavenging for food and slitting the throats of other tributes.

The crowd loves the idea however, as it always has. The interviews were practically dominated by Laco declaring that he would do his best to see Ari through to the finish. I don't remember it all that well, but the television is doing replays and that moment is all it has to say about Sector 5.  
If either of them gets through to the top 8- I'll be damned to another circle of hell. Hah, if they get past the bloodbath I'll be irritated. Just more work for me.

Mentoring isn't something I enjoy, and I won't be bothered to do my work. George, little miss _paid assassin_ can do it all instead, if she doesn't want me ratting her out to Crane and her gang of murderers.

All I want to do this Quell is what I did last Quell.

Sweet shit all.

...and drink enough of this wine so it'll stick this time that it's no better than the corner-shop piss back home.

**

* * *

**

_Sienna Moreno; 26 years; District 6; Victor of the 114__th__ Hunger Games._

When the Quell card was read out- I could barely contain my glee over its perfect justice. It's what every District has dreamed of since these Games began. It was even a rumour that should a rebellion succeed, it would be the first act passed- a revenge game comprised of the Capitol's children; torturing them like they tortured us for over _a hundred years_.

-But who'd have thought that inside that little fabled box filled with Quell cards, one of the Heads of the Capitol had tucked away the 125th card inside with all the others- knowing _that _tiny card would bring about a scandal never to be forgotten?

It was more than I ever hoped for. That was why I was more than happy to mentor the Capitol sacrifices to my hunger for vengeance.

...and then I saw Faye-Anna, and my resolve shattered into millions of tiny pieces of guilt. Of all the girls I could have been entrusted with from Sector 6 of the Capitol, I was given the _one _who made this entire Quell lose its fun.  
She's only fourteen, but she looks barely a day older than twelve. Pale, anorexic and frail- Faye is nothing like the Capitol girls I saw clambering for my autograph when I won my Games. The girls I had wished would suffer the fate I had gone through.

That's why it's far easier for me to direct all my hatred towards Brandit. While he might not deserve it- it's simple enough to think of him as another brainless career. He volunteered for a fight to the death- something that should be treated with fear and dread- and that callousness compared to Faye-Anna's innocence... I don't know... it just bothers me...

In their interviews however, Brandit did substantially better than Faye did. Where Faye whispered and teetered on the verge of tears- Brandit was strong and clear. He spoke to his family, promising to make them proud, building the bitterness inside my heart.  
I can't help but wonder what his family is thinking of the boy. Are they proud to have someone that volunteered for the Games? Is it a status symbol to them- the 'Gailer' family?

I can only hope that they're horrified with themselves when their son turns up on their doorstop in a wooden box.

...Yeah, I shouldn't hate him this way... but... damn it... it's just easier this way. When I look down at him and see just another career- I know that the satisfaction I wanted in these Games can at least be achieved by watching _him _die. We've earned that much justice, haven't we?

...

I wanted to enjoy this Quell. I wanted to laugh and point and wriggle excitedly in my seat as children of the Capitol were torn to shreds by the Game they had used to keep us in check.

...but I'm not going to be able to now. Not when I know in my heart that none of these kids deserve this fate we're throwing them into.

...God damn it... damn it all.

Why can't I enjoy it...? I earned it... I earned this...!

**

* * *

**

_Eden Skipper; 19 years; District 7; Victor of the 124__th__ Hunger Games._

Mentoring is a nightmare. When you leave the Games you think '_It's done. It's over. Everything can go back to the way it was now._' But that's not true. It can never go back. Suddenly you're one of the elusive 'victors'- and you're forced into mentoring two kids each year who are more than likely going to end up dead.

It's our punishment for winning. So we never forget how awful our time in that arena was. It makes me feel so helpless and pathetic that I wish I hadn't bothered fighting in that arena at all. There's no escaping the torture of being a tribute.

You lose, you die. If you win, you spend your life clawing for a way out.

As cliché as it sounds, death would've been a better choice.

Despite that, I'm still trying to do my best behind the scenes- but to no real avail. Ferroh barely speaks, and Galaxy... well, she's a case I no longer want to get into. Originally it was easy to pity her and her constant bouts of tears... but it's like an old hunter once told me- _when a crying animal stops its wails, it means it has given up. _

Galaxy Jones has given up.

I don't know what must have happened to her during the sponsors' party, but it is more than possible she heard all the words said of her being a candidate for bloodbath tribute and decided that enough was enough. We couldn't really deal with her when we found Ferroh in the dining hall- wide eyed and practically catatonic.

"_It was a person." _He had said desperately, as if it was painful just to remember. _"They were killing a person in there."_

The boy didn't get better until noon the next day, but by then he had just gone back to being silent. While I heard he had made an alliance with some younger girl- there was no time to talk about it before the interviews. And now that the interviews are over, there's no time for anything except prayer.

District 7 never really has problems with interviews. Something about woodcutters is apparently attractive, and we've never done too poorly. However this year, watching was like pulling fingernails out.

Ferroh was a quiet one, and it did work to an extent- but the interviewer Idola Flickerman almost reached hysterics by how withdrawn he was. Usually the crowd would frown on an interviewer for breaking so easily, but this time it was hardly surprising- given the disastrous interview that came before him.

-I'm unsure if there has ever been an interview where no words were said before. If there hasn't, then Galaxy made a first. Her name was called, she sat down- and that's where her cooperation ended.

The girl didn't speak a single word.

Not one.

If she hasn't decided to leap off the plate, then she's done herself in by looking as if she was trying to defy the Capitol. Gamemakers have never liked rebels, and they always do their best to extinguish them fast from their games.

It's clear that I'm in for trouble this year with those two as my tributes. One way or another, they'll pay for what they've seen and done- and there's not a thing I can do to help them out of that, besides being the best mentor I can be.

-And though this is my first, I'll do my best.

It's the least I can do to escape this nightmare.

**

* * *

**

_Corbin Niles; 33 years; District 8; Victor of the 109__th__ Hunger Games._

For the first time in my years of mentoring, I have this knowing feeling in my gut that both my tributes have an honest to God chance this time. Both Diego and Koriana... I don't want to jinx it, but hell- they've really got what it takes to win.

Although, that may just be my love of childish rebellion talking.

No one ever expects anyone from the Capitol to be at all influenced by the kiss of rebellion, but it's true- they're out there. Just they usually get killed, rather than put on national television. That's why it was such a delight to hear Diego and Koriana talk of potential acts of rebellion that could be pulled off within the arena last night.

It was interesting, hearing what they thought might work. Koriana was a little on the dim side, thinking that using the Games to speak out against the Capitol was actually a possibility. In order to pull that off- she'd need to have all the tributes agree to a unanimous truce- and with the Games tomorrow morning and nothing planned, that's impossible.

Diego's idea held a lot more merit. To succeed, all it would take is for the victor to make the simplest of decisions- and the entire

_"Then they would just need to commit suicide."_

_ "-w-what? But what'll that accomplish!"_

Koriana, despite her arguments that she refuses to play this Game- although I'm looking forward to seeing how far she goes with this resolution- still doesn't see the Games the way Diego and I do. Perhaps she hasn't truly learned the dynamic, how these Games work.

For another Game to begin, the past Games have to succeed. And the only way for a Game to fail, is if there is no victor. It's been tried before- fifty years ago I believe- but Seneca Crane, a veteran Gamemaker, was all too quick to avert it. However this is Iilvsea's first year, so there is room for error with her.

_"If this Game were to fail, with all the debate surrounding it, having the victor pull the strongest act of rebellion would mean the certain end of the Hunger Games. It's this Quell or never Kori'."_

_ "...but... but killing yourself..."_

It's not a habit of mine to eavesdrop, but I have made a habit of hanging out in the corridor when your tributes are being particularly chummy. As mentors we're meant to discourage too much 'fraternisation'- pardon my euphemism- but I'm possibly the only one who does that part of the job anymore.

I'm glad I heard though. By knowing their intentions, it has made me more determined to help them both on their way. Even though their success would mean they could never thank me, that doesn't concern me.  
A successful rebellion would end all this. No more mentoring, no more murdering. Perhaps if the games were stopped, our torment as victors would end as well.

Throughout their interviews, I felt a sensation in my chest I could only liken to pride.

Whoever chose these two, whatever deity or force controls our fates; I thank them.

Panem just might have a chance.

**

* * *

**

_Javier Heydrichs; 35 years; District 9; Victor of the 107__th__ Hunger Games._

One more night to go and I can barely contain my excitement. I almost wanted to skip the interviews just so I could go to sleep and wake up on Judgement Day sooner. It's as like going to bed really early the day before your birthday because you know when you wake up there'll be cake and presents- and you just want to get to all the fun _sooner_.

That's the only way I can explain this feeling. I felt like a child again, swinging my legs and clapping my hands together excitedly throughout the interviews. The moment any child walked up to take their place I'd whisper in my head-

'_You might be dead tomorrow~! You might be dead very soon!'_

Nothing could ruin this Quell for me. It's as if the Almighty reached down into my sleep and stole away the bud of my dreams... and then brought it to life before my eyes. Several times during the reading of the Quell card I had to prod myself just to make sure it was real. Just to make sure I could really celebrate.

Sure, mentoring was a pain- but it was different this year. Every other year I'm seeing myself in my tributes; worrying for their safety and wellbeing. This year I couldn't give a shit. Britney is a vapid little airhead, and Montserrat has less personality than a wet sheet.  
There'll be no pain when they die. It'll just be one less thing off my mind- not having to worry about sponsor points and item costs. The sooner they die the better. I might even see if I can bribe some of the Gamemakers into offing them sooner.

-haha, I sound like a monster. It's hard to believe that every year until now I've cursed these Games when this year I'm acting just like a hollow minded Capitolite. But I honestly can't help it. There's this adrenaline pumping through me at the thought of _finally _seeing the Capitol fall, even if it's just a kid to a sword or an arrowhead. At least it's _something_.

Either of my kids will be easy pickings for a stronger tribute. Britney has been even more of a mess since the sponsoring party- sobbing and crying as they did her hair and fitting. Montserrat is a little less embarrassing, but with his crazy hairstyle and alterations, it'll be like watching an embodiment of the Capitol go down.

Which is _exactly _something I want to see.

This Quell has gotten me thinking... perhaps these Games really have messed me up inside. I'm sure if this had happened before I was reaped and sent through that hell I might have had some sympathy for these kids. However when I think of a Capitol child clawing their way up twenty metres of sheer cliff-face as I did... well it makes my body tingle a little from the pure justice of it all.

Let these children learn what suffering is. I hope their families watch in horror- finally realising that these Games aren't just 'Games'. Hahaha, perhaps if God really was the one who plucked this dream into reality- he'll make this become a yearly occurrence!

Ah~! That sent chills up my spine just thinking about it. I just might need to start praying from now on... hahaha.

**

* * *

**

_Dalton Rhodes; 20 years; District 10; Victor of the 120__th__ Hunger Games._

There's no point for me to mentor this year. If your tribute is a potential winner you can see it right from the beginning. There are little signs that give it away- the score, the way they hold themselves- it's enough to pick up the future victor.

Evon and Jasse will not win this year. I have no doubts about that.

For a tribute to win there has to be certain elements in their favour. There are the obvious ones, such as good fitness, mental health and popularity with the audience- but then there are others that aren't so easy to dominate or hone. Intuition. Talent. Luck.

Of the two, Evon has no luck. And because of this, she will never win. Not a single tribute has gone into the Games with a disadvantage and come out a winner. They're always taken out- either out of pity or because the opportunity arose.  
With her hands charred and burnt to their extreme, Evon Sanhorn hasn't got a hope in an exploded gun chamber.

Jasse is a different story. He is in good shape, fairly stable, and the audience has been positive towards him as a tribute. He has shown intuition- the Doctor skulking around the party- and he has talent in martial arts.  
But he also has no luck. And like Evon, his luck is no longer controllable.

_No one _has gotten away with angering a Gamemaker before their Hunger Games. I can remember watching a tape of a boy from District 5, rumoured to have spat at one of the Gamemakers during his training session, be what can only be called sniped by a lone falling coconut.

In an arena with _no coconut trees_.

By stabbing Doctor Galen in the face at the party, traumatising at least a dozen of the party guests and standing in the way of treating Evon's wounds, Jasse Harridan has no doubt sealed his fate with Miss Iilvsea Crane.

I'd say it was a shame, but it was inevitable. Capitol children are unaware of how these Games work- blissfully ignorant that the days before the Games are vital to what will happen to them _inside _their arena. Jasse and Evon might assume that the Gamemakers have to be impartial, but that's a lie.

It's their Game after all. They can do whatever they like in the name of this Game.

That is why I was able to win; why any of the victors were able to win. A Gamemaker will never allow a potential danger to win their Games- even if it is one of their own.

The pair went through the interviews remarkably. Evon stumbled, as expected- but managed to command a bit of favour in a red dress slit up the sides. Jasse however, has done a complete 180 turn about in terms of personality. No more grins and silly gestures- even his afro was shorn off. Suddenly the boy was all business.

Too little too late, for both of them. No amount of Panem's favour can save them now. I doubt I'll be at the sponsoring desks come tomorrow night.

Cruel as it is to be so frank, I don't delude myself. These two cannot win.

Trust me.

**

* * *

**

_Moyna Everwood; 43 years; District 11; Victor of the 99__th__ Hunger Games._

Being Capitolites- Cotton and Vince are both too withdrawn to ask for help from someone like me, but for drastically different reasons. Cotton is proud, and the way she looks down her nose at District 11 is obvious by how she gazes at me with distaste. Vince however is a bit of a mystery. Every time I suspect him of being terrified, his fear doesn't seem to meet his eyes.

-But there's so little time to focus on tributes. Not when all of Panem is blind to what is occurring right under their noses.

These are the Hunger Games, a punishment created solely to torment the Districts for their disastrous uprising. While there is much rabble and debate over why the original creators of the Quell cards would create a Quell such as this- no one has noticed the reality of the situation.

No one except me that is.

I've discussed it with Nikolai of 12, but he doesn't seem as preoccupied with it as I. Perhaps his age has separated him from thinking about things like this. But by talking with him I began to piece together what little I knew about these Games.

One- they were deliberate.

No one could have 'slipped' this card into the box without forensics picking up the traces. This means that the card was lying in wait for a hundred and twenty-five years before seeing the light of day once more.  
This also means something else is certain.

Two- they have a purpose.

I'm yet to figure this one out. What purpose could it hold that the founders of the Games could have foreseen it a hundred and twenty-five years ago? Whatever that purpose might be, it's still known and _true_ today- or else they would have been successfully changed to another Quell card.

It's agonising, how the rest of the world seems to be blinded by the apparent 'justice' or 'injustice' of these Games- and not even bothering to ask the simple question of '_why?'_ like I am. Surely I can't be the only one believing this has to be some sort of elaborate step to a greater plan?

Whatever it is, it's bigger than I am- and bigger than any of these tributes. Had I been given more cooperative children, I'd discuss it with them. But Cotton seems more preoccupied with the boy from 4, and Vince is a twitchy, nervous mess of a boy that I'm guessing serious discussion wouldn't do much good for.

I... I want to understand it. I need to know exactly why this is happening, before it's too late and I'm throttling myself for not seeing it sooner.

Why? Why is this Quell happening? What purpose does it serve?

And why can't I shake this feeling that it's something that will change everything...?

**

* * *

**

_Nikolai Medve; 54 years; District 12; Victor of the 88__th__ Hunger Games._

They don't mean any harm, these kids. Up until now they've lived normal, happy lives- devoid of the Districts' pain. While some might have been aware of the hatred directed towards them, they were undeserving of it. After all, none of them had done anything wrong.

That is why I cannot relish the 'justice' my District and the others speak of. There is no justice in these Capitol children dying. Only more pain that we are happy to inflict.

Vee didn't want me to mentor this year. She begged the Games' board of Directors- but there was no surprise when they declined her request. There is no one else from District 12 willing to help these Capitol children in their fight to the death. Everyone is more than happy to send these kids in bare fisted and confused; to make things more painful than necessary.

There's no need for that attitude. With this being a Quarter Quell and Iilvsea Crane finally at the helm of her Grandfather's ship- there's no doubt that this will be more than agonising enough for all.

I didn't expect any cooperation from the tributes given to me, so I promised myself not to treat them too harshly. Not like the District 12 children, who I would scold would they kick up a fuss. _They _should know better. Julian and Sapphire don't need reprimanding.  
But... it was hard to keep this promise to myself around the girl. Not when she was so adamant in her decision to be difficult.

_"Just because you won by murdering others-!"_

Yes. I had snapped at her before this, causing her to retaliate with those words of venom. Things could have been disastrous had Vee not have fallen back after the first punch, but I was too tired to try and explain things properly to the young girl. It was unlikely she'd ever believe me... regardless...

No victor can claim he never murdered his fellow tributes. By his or her decisions, they survived- and the others did not. It's a conscious decision to survive and let others die- even if you do not do so with a knife or an arrow.

I did all I could not to be that victor, but it's not something you can escape. Either you lose and allow someone else to live or you win- and everyone else dies. That's the only choice you have inside the barriers.  
Even if you refuse to kill your competitors... even if you volunteer your body as rations... even if you wait for death in a small, dark cave... if you don't die, you're the murderer.

There is nothing to say that Julian or Sapphire cannot be that murderer, but I have hope for them yet. Sapphire is young and feisty, and has the potential to run and hide until the last cannon booms. Julian is just as confident... however... both he and I have few delusions that he will be crowned victor... even though it would make me very happy to see such an upstanding young man continue on with his life.

I learned nothing new from their interviews. Sapphire was quiet, compared to her first day- and Julian was calm and polite. One might have mistaken them for real District 12 tributes, filled with dread for what was to come tomorrow.

One can't also help but wonder if they realise how much their mentor is dreading the day the sun will soon rise upon.

...perhaps it would be better if they never do.

**

* * *

**

_?._

"_Congratulations Antony Cross, tribute of District 1- Victor of the 123__rd__ Hunger Games!"_

He was a popular sort of boy, raucous and playful. The kind who would tease his peers and get into fist fights over the question of 'honour' and 'respect'. Antony went into the Games smiling-

And he left screaming with laughter.

"_Congratulations Mars Donovan, tribute of District 2- Victor of the 113__th__ Hunger Games!"_

Mars was a crowd favourite right from the start. His turbulent relationship with his father was something well known- particularly after the final eight interviews. He made it out, shaken but intact.

Unlike his Father who would be dead upon his arrival.

_"Congratulations Ava Gardener, tribute of District 3- Victor of the 97__th__ Hunger Games!"_

There was nothing remarkable about the girl; plain haired, a little shy. She seemed to stumble through the Games with nothing but absolute terror egging her on. It was a surprise when she won.

Just shows that fear is a huge factor in survival.

_"Congratulations Juan Olivier; tribute of District 4- Victor of the 119__th__ Hunger Games!"_

Girls adored him, and the female population of the Capitol showered him with gifts every day of the Games from start to finish. Juan gushed during his interviews that he was fighting for his 'fiancée' back home.

It was a shock to the Capitol when he called off the engagement.

_"Congratulations Vernon Alistern; tribute of District 5- Victor of the 91__st__ Hunger Games!"_

It was a new development when the fat boy turned out to be the strongest competitor in the arena of ice and snow. As his competition fell to the icy winds and harsh cold, he simply sat and waited for the cannons to sound.

He never even needed a sponsor, what with all blubber to keep him warm.

_"Congratulations Sienna Moreno; tribute of District 6- Victor of the 114__th__ Hunger Games!"_

While Sienna was an underdog for the entirety of her Games, she proved useful to the careers who kept her chained and bound to the cornucopia- only feeding her in return for her medicinal knowledge.

They never should have trusted her with their water supplies.

_"Congratulations Eden Skipper; tribute of District 7- Victor of the 124__th__ Hunger Games!"_

Only three days were needed for Eden to secure her title as victor. With an axe in one hand and a sword in the other- she cut down everything in her path- leaving behind a trail of blood which no one could ignore.

That and she was sobbing all the while.

_"Congratulations Corbin Niles; tribute of District 8- Victor of the 109__th__ Hunger Games!"_

Corbin barely spoke two words during his Games. His audience tried to base his personality on his reactions during kills- but even that barely seemed to change from a look of blank concentration.

It wasn't until this victor punched the interviewer did they realise he was trouble.

_"Congratulations Javier Heydrichs; tribute of District 9- Victor of the 107__th__ Hunger Games!"_

A people's person, Javier spent his games keeping up comrade morale with inane jokes and silly little musings. He somehow managed to wear a smile even when all that lay between him and death was a cliff.

Who can forget his shaking rendition of '_seven fingernails left on my hand_s~'?

_"Congratulations Dalton Rhodes; tribute of District 10- Victor of the 120__th__ Hunger Games!"_

What Capitolites like to see is something that's never been done before. Sex and betrayal doesn't cut it anymore- what they want is the defiance of nature and reality. Dalton Rhodes was the last one they expected this from.

But when he came out charging on the back of a bear... well, the rest is history.

_"Congratulations Moyna Everwood; tribute of District 11- Victor of the 99__th__ Hunger Games!"_

It's easy to forget this woman when her Games fell just before the fourth Quarter Quell. However it's not easy to forget how pitiful and small the largely built woman seemed when all her efforts in her Games were for nothing.

Because what's the point of fighting for a sister who dies the next year?

_"Congratulations Nikolai Medve; tribute of District 12- Victor of the 88__th__ Hunger Games!"_

Not many tributes survive after hacking off their limbs. Even fewer survive when their team mates eat them. However what Nikolai did, while extreme and risky, managed to be a great tactical manoeuvre on his part.

What better way to win than guilting your allies to fight for you?

...

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the mentors of the Fifth Quarter Quell.

Which of these twelve will bring us our next Victor?

Can you... _guess~?_

...

**

* * *

**

**Capitol Question #014; which mentor do you like/dislike/fear/pity the most?**


	40. For the Sake of Panem

**A Vivid Note: **The Games _begin next chapter_; it's time to start hyperventilating children.

This Chapter, like the one before it- was initially made to be much longer- but it became so long that I was unable to see it being readable unless I broke it up into pieces. I didn't want to do that- so instead I rewrote the entire thing into a smaller, more edible chapter.

Please understand this was the hardest chapter I've written so far. Not because it was difficult in terms of words, but because I've grown so close to the characters that it's becoming increasingly difficult to write out their fates. This is partly why this chapter is done by the '?' perspective. Also that and... well, I like to mix things up. Things will be back to first-person perspective next chapter.

Thank you to everyone who initially created their characters, and to everyone who has drawn closer to them through reading. I write this for you as much as I write for me.

Bid farewell to our group of twenty-four. Next we meet, they shall be nineteen.

**Capitol Question #015; any last words you'd like to say to any of our twenty-four tributes?**

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_?._

_For the sake of all of Panem, many things are vital for its continued survival._

Alone in her room, the girl sits and bunches her hands in the folds of her nightgown. Her eyes rise to the ceiling, and then again to her toes. Liotta tries to think of the pain that boy had gone through. The sharpened ends of the wings, wet with blood as he held them before the Gamemakers. The agony on his face as blood trickled and dribbled down his back and to the floor.

Slowly, her hands reach over her own shoulders. First she takes hold of the left wing's arch. Then the second. Screwing her face up with courage, she too begins to pull on the wings that saw her through life.

It hurts. She squeals in pain and releases her grip. Shaking and sobbing, Liotta collapses into the pillows and begins to weep in desperation. Balling up her fists in the sheets, she cries herself into sleep.

_The dependence on alterations is necessary._

The hallway is still well-lit when Jason steps out of his room. As he forgets his intentions of walking there, his eyes immediately notice the mentor leaning against the wall. Antony buries his face into Jason's discarded, blood-stained interview shirt, inhaling deeply.  
As the boy stumbles back in horror- the man, suddenly alert, grins with insane glee before casting the shirt aside and lunging for the tribute.

Hand slammed against his mouth, the mentor whispers cold truths. 'Forget her boy,' the man hisses nastily, eyes gleaming madly. 'There's no love for you anymore~!' as the boy struggles and thrashes to get away.

Without warning- Antony grabs the beaded bracelet tied around the boy's arm. With a shout of desperation- Jason can do nothing but watch as it is pulled from his wrist and a shower of beads cascades across the hallway floor.

_The disintegrating morality of the Mentors is necessary._

Throwing her dress to the floor, Natalia Marinos' mind fills with hatred. With the interviews and the scores now behind her, there is nothing more she can do but wait. But waiting is torment and the girl can bear it no longer. She pulls the cover from her bed- throws the sheets to the floor- and begins to tear the room apart, little by little- piece by piece. Slowly, her anger erodes away and she storms towards the elevator.

Her frustration is simple. At every corner, the boy had bested her. The chariots, the scores, the interviews- he stole the show. Compared to him, she was just another girl to be tossed aside and forgotten.

There is no way this girl will allow that to happen. Not when her Mother is depending on her to come home. Not when her life is on the line. She won't lose to such an infuriating person.

_The rivalry between the tributes is necessary._

Unable to sleep, Marshall Matthews considers exactly what he is fighting for. His words from the interview run through his head over and over again. 'Kill my Father, of course'. He had truly said that in front of everyone, all of Panem heard it. There wasn't a trace of sadness or anger in his voice either. It was the most pure thing he had ever admitted to anyone.

His mother must have looked on in horror, while his brother Casey stared on in awe. His sister shrieked and clapped her hands to her mouth- while the man in question stared at the television screen in alarm.

In just a few short seconds and simple words, the youngest of the Matthews family had destroyed- _shattered_ their entire world. And now all he can think about is if killing his father is even necessary anymore.

_The growing distance between father and son is necessary._

Smiling broadly, Francesca raps playfully on her friend's door. As he answers with a confused expression, she blanks. Why did she want to see him again? With a laboured giggle and the waving of her arms- she goes inside and falls backwards onto the bed, still grinning happily. Despite her cheerful expression, the boy looks at her wearily; unable to reciprocate her optimism.

Little does he know that she too understands now is not the time for smiles and giggling, but it's all she understands. To show sadness at a time like this would amount to nothing- except more misery and pain. Francesca Emmeline von Bardot won't allow that.

Hours pass of mindless chit-chat and bubbly rambling as the girl lapses into a state of sleep. Snuggling into the pillow, she finally allows herself to think of sad things before drifting into peaceful slumber.

_The enforced public optimism is necessary._

Stroking a few strands of lavender hair from the sleeping princess' forehead, the boy quietly backs away. While he would prefer to stay by her side- now is the only chance he has to say goodbye. To let it go now would just be another regret. Hurrying up the deserted stairwells- Holland scales five floors before slowing and catching his breath. Peering out cautiously, he takes a step.

The person who meets him is not his father. The girl from 8 explains that he is no longer on the floor, but in the celebrations on the street. Disheartened, the boy shies away from the strange girl- but not before she smiles kindly.

'He spoke highly of you. You're his son, aren't you?' While her words are ordinary, they evoke a strange emotion in his heart. One of intense sadness and pride. No one has ever recognised him as his father's son.

_The confusion of the citizen's self is necessary._

The moment they encountered one another in the hallway, it was clear that things were not as simple as first thought. Minerva shies away from her Sector partner at first- before relaxing and taking her first real look at him. With his skin now dyed a natural tan and his eyes gleaming under the lights, the guy that had repulsed her on the first day now looked... almost handsome.

'_I just wanted to wish you luck tomorrow,_' his voice is forcibly cool, as he looks away stubbornly. '_I... I hope we can meet again in there. As friends I mean._' The tenseness in his voice makes her want to smile, but also lays a heavy guilt in her heart.

On her finger, the engagement ring begins to burn. Its weight almost impossible to bear much longer. Before it can become unbearable- she turns away from Vinel and disappears to bed.

_The doubt of a citizen's choices is necessary._

Standing alone in the hallway, the young man's face burns with embarrassment and confusion. What was he hoping to achieve with an engaged girl? Why was he secretly hoping that she would show signs of reciprocation? It was a foolish thought to have, especially since Vinel had a girl obviously infatuated with him only five floors above his head- Cotton Ferier.

This place was such a change from back home. There he had his choosing of the girls, yet not a single one he truly wanted. Yet when he finally believes that he truly likes a girl- she is not only taken, but they are pitted against one another to fight to the death.

Perhaps it's karma. That's what the boy thinks to himself as he scuffs along back to his room; unaware of the girl and her beating heart just on the opposite side of the other bedroom door.

_The failing desires of the citizen are necessary._

At first she is angry. Thoughts of her father and agent cloud her mind, filling her with disgust. Then disappointment, for being unable to recognise her fate sooner. A Capitol pop idol would never have a fairytale ending. Ari Saint-Claire was destined to die in either a blaze of drugs and alcohol or fall to an untimely, premature death at the hands of the audience who adored her.

But when he knocks on her door, her rage reaches its peak. She screams and shouts- grabbing and pushing the pale-skinned boy to the floor in her anger. Panting and breathing heavily- she collapses to her knees, shaking.

What she expects is frustration, not understanding. When his arms encircle her and hold her gently- it's impossible to hold in the tears any longer. Rocking with loud, bewailing sobs- the songbird cries into the chest of her new protector.

_The censorship of popular culture is necessary._

His feelings weren't of love, not at first. They were of respect, admiration. All Laco Sykora wanted was to preserve was one of the rare examples of beauty left in the Capitol. It was never his intention to have her all for his own, for the purpose of love. The thought hadn't crossed his mind until it began to attack him from all sides. From the crowd, the escorts, the stylists... and then from within himself.

Their faces are close. Each teardrop that clings to the girl's eyelashes sparkle in the dim light of the room. His hand moves on its own and softly wipes away the hurt. Finally quiet from crying, the girl stares up at him- their noses almost touching.

And then, as if it was destined from the very beginning, they close their eyes and lean into one another. Lips gently touching, arms coiling around one another- the two forget completely about tomorrow's curse...

_The unquestioning loyalty to the Capitol is necessary._

A hand gingerly examining her brittle hair, the young girl looks into the mirror with caution. It has been a long time since she genuinely looked at herself. Faye-Anna usually cringed and shied away from her reflection, but now that she feels the curiosity of what the others see in her- she can't bear not knowing. Glancing up and down, she begins to speculate what that might be.

Ferroh wants her as an ally. _Her_, a frail fourteen year old girl with no experience in fighting. Common sense inside her warns her of the possibility of a trap- but something holds her back from doubting the boy. After all, he sounded so sure.

She had read so many books of fateful encounters like this, yet she had sworn they were unrealistic. So now that an unlikely friendship of her own had begun, all she wants was to understand how it had come to be without her realising.

_The distinguishing of fiction and reality is necessary._

Heart aching and eyes burning with tears, Brandit Gailer grips the edge of the bed. So little time is left until the Games begin. To try and sleep now would be impossible, not with everything that has happened over the past few days replaying over and over through his mind. Were he to even find rest it would only result in nightmares- which he doesn't want at all at the present moment.

Thoughts of his goodbye still plague his mind. Is there even a point to fighting through these Games if his family back home will never accept him ever again? Would it be best to just find the nearest poisonous object and end it painlessly?

This thought disappears quickly as the face of the girl from 2 reappears. '_No_' he thinks, his hands relaxing. He won't die yet. If he threw his life away so easily, it would only make them hate him more. And he won't let that happen.

_The determination to live is necessary._

Still and silent, she sits in the dining room. Even as her mentor and escort stare at her in desperation- no longer asking her why she refused to speak in the interviews- Galaxy does not react to them. It's as if she is no longer there. Just a shell that sits and waits on that chair for the sun to rise, the dawn to come- and for her end... her explosive, firey end as a supernova... to arrive.

Struggling would be useless. So would crying and pleading, as she had done so much of before. There was no need for any of it. Even the fear of her Sector partner- who posed such a threat in the beginning- was pointless.

Choosing to simply await the end is painless. There is no need for fruitless rebellion. The world will not mourn the loss of Galaxy Jones. That is why she will unquestioningly accept her fate as a tribute... a sacrifice.

_The blind acceptance of the Capitol is necessary._

Disturbed by the change in his Sector partner, and haunted by the events he saw the day before- Ferroh Axum lies awake with his palms pressed tightly against his eyes. Yet no matter how hard he pushes, the images won't vanish from his mind's eye. For hours on end, through the styling and the interview- all the boy could see was the brutal mutilation that has burned into his head.

His skin is black through his genetic line. Their skin was black from bruising. Their eyes bulged and their skin was matted with their blood. Stubby, useless fingers reached out into a puddle of muck- reaching for life- reaching for Ferroh-

He had always been repulsed by the Capitol, but he had never realised it was this far-gone. That its citizens died, writhing and pulsating in a puddle of their blood and entrails. From seeing that he was determined not to let another die that way.

_The use of fear tactics for Capitol control is necessary._

As a dark blue tints the sky of black, the girl from 8 recognises that dawn is soon approaching. There will not be much more time until she will stand upon her plate of cold, heartless metal above that weight triggered mine, just as so many others had done before her. Her guts twist with anxiety as Koriana Wilder realises that with such little sleep she may suffer for her choice.

It won't affect her resolve. To refuse to fight, refuse to die- refuse to play. No matter what happens, she will not partake in these Games. No tribute will die by her hand, nor will she allow herself to fall from another's.

No matter what happens inside the walls the torture room- she won't give in. Koriana Wilder will not fall. She will do her best to stand by her promise... even if she leaves that arena in pieces.

_The continuation of the Capitol's control is necessary._

There is no home for this man to return to. Born to strangers, raised in an orphanage, adopted by a detached woman... and then thrust into the fate that would decide the rest of his life. It was as if Diego was never meant to know the true form of happiness or love. Before he was shunned, and soon he will be hunted. Such an odd way for life to turn out for the once small boy.

Yet, despite the severity of his situation- the man was happy. For the first time in his entire life, he had been given purpose. Not only purpose, but friendship- in the form of two boys so different from himself. A firm believer in fate, it couldn't be a coincidence to him.

This fact alone allows him to be happy with the choice he has decided to make. Should he succeed in making it to the very end... he will make certain there is no victor, and the Games finish. Forever.

_The illusion of an individual's significance is necessary._

A goodbye has never been something she's wished for before. It was always something she overlooked in terms of greetings. Things she had wanted to hear more in her lifetime were words like 'hello!' and 'I love you.' Not goodbye. Farewells never meant much to Britney. Why would they ever mean much to her? They were something to be avoided, weren't they?

Now it is all she wants, and the one thing she cannot have. By fainting she stole her only chance of a farewell from her family. Her only ally had decided to leave her behind in order to throw her life away. Then she watched as an innocent protestor had their life stolen before her eyes.

Britney coils up on her bed, hugging her knees tightly. She doesn't want to die. This girl has done nothing to deserve this fate. Praying silently to whoever is listening- she begs for forgiveness... to see her family and sisters once more...

_The constant sense of desperation is necessary._

The sky is tinged with orange. Montserrat knows that soon he will be fetched from his room by the stylist and taken away to the arena. Where there had once been lots of time there is now only mere hours. While he has drifted in and out of sleep- the boy hasn't achieved anything satisfying. It's impossible not to think heavily about the trial to come- and whether or not he'll be able to overcome it.

Or whether he truly wants to. While it would be preferable to live and return home to his family- thus allowing them to avoid mourning his horrific on-screen death- it would be easier to die, and allow another's family to enjoy that same thing.

At least he has comrades in this. His eyes settle a little as Montserrat reminds himself of this fact. Diego and Marshall will be by his side for at least some of the Games. If that can remain true, then it won't be as hard as possible.

_The surveillance of mob mentality is necessary._

Rocking gently on the floor- the abandoned razor lies cold and abandoned while Evon stares at it in distress. Would cutting her hands off really be the easiest way to do this? Stealing it from the stylists' table was easy enough- but holding it to her wrists with the idea of sawing the flimsy blade through her bones was agonising in itself. What does she hope to achieve by doing so?

Perhaps dying in a bathroom alone is better than under the eyes of all of Panem. If only she still had that wretched gun- and had aimed it closer to her face. It might have blown backwards and blown out her eyeballs, causing her to bleed to death...

There is no going back now. There is no luck. Evon hasn't the will to take her own life; after all that's happened. Her end apparently will have to be at the hands of one of her fellow tributes... what bothers her most is who...

_The instillation of suspicion amongst citizens is necessary._

As the door opens and the escort announces it is time to leave, Jasse inhales sharply. Time really has run out. Unsure of what he should say or do- he blindly steps from his bed and follows in silence. Even if there was something to be said, he'd be hesitant to now. The time for rebellion was when he was reaped- not just before the Games began. All that is left now is to follow direction and... try not to die.

Soon his family will be able to see him again, and he will see each of his fellow tributes for the final time. Who amongst the twenty-four will die? Jasse grits his teeth together and prays that it's not him. He knows how to fight, and he will.

There is no sign of his broken Sector partner. Strangely the boy finds himself hoping that she too will survive. As he thinks more about it- he begins wishing that no one will. It's not until he reaches the roof that he knows that, just like the time for rebellion- the time for miracles is no longer present.

_The precise following of Government procedures is necessary._

The fury from the night before where she stood in the exact same spot on this roof comes flooding back before she takes hold of the hovercraft's drop-ladder. When Cotton had stolen away up here, with the hopes of seeing Vinel one last time before the Games, she was instead met by a rather brazen Natalia. The conversation that took place was not in the least bit amiable.

'Hate to break it to you, but he's in love with little Miss Fiancée, his Sector partner.' Her eyes gleamed with a cold sort of amusement. 'So don't come crying to me when he abandons you in that arena for her, okay _sister_?'

Grabbing hold of the drop-ladder, Cotton closes her eyes. She will make it home. She'll survive through this torment and return to her sisters. And she'll make Natalia pay for her lip. There won't be enough room in that arena for the two of them.

_The boiling envy between citizens is necessary._

Watching from the window of the hovercraft, Vince begins to bristle with anticipation and excitement. There isn't long now. An hour, less than an hour even, until the Games begin. All his waiting and patience has finally come to its reward. Soon he'll be able to cast aside this weak disguise and become the true engineer he has always been behind his shy expression.

No one picked up on it. Not a single mentor had looked at him sideways. That only proved the child's suspicions that the mentors were just as incompetent as he had initially guessed they would be. Rather disappointing actually.

Not to worry however. Soon there would be a mentor that would meet his expectations. A mentor that had succeeding in avenging their father's death and besting the most notorious Quell to date. Himself.

_The unwarranted self-worth of the citizens is necessary._

She wanted to apologise before she was taken away- but no opportunity was given to her. A quick moment to whisper 'I'm sorry for misjudging you.' – or just to smile weakly towards the old man. In that moment where Sapphire had let her anger get the better of her- she had coated her inside with a black tarnish of guilt, which still won't lift no matter how hard she tries to let go.

Out of all the others, does she deserve to survive more than they do? How nice it would be to say 'yes, of course!' – but she isn't sure of that. Really, she isn't sure of anything anymore... only that she doesn't want the Gamemakers to get away with this.

Yes. She only truly realised how wrong the Games really were once she was pulled into them herself. Somehow that seems worse than never realising how wrong they were in the first place. This is what she thinks as she is led into the catacombs beneath the arena.

_The lack of understanding of Government is necessary._

In the launch room, Julian heaves one final heavy sigh. This is it. Minutes are left now. _Minutes_. Not days, not hours- minutes. The stylist hands him a glass of water that he slowly sips- letting the water run over his tongue and down his throat. The water makes his stomach church uncomfortably as he sits and waits for the signal to stand on the metal plate that gleams nastily under the launch room's fluorescent light.

There are no real regrets the young man has. He was as close to his family as he could've been. He enjoyed an energetic, party lifestyle, had many friends- a few loves- and lived what he had considered a substantial lifestyle.

...all he regrets is that woman, but in his heart- Julian knows that if he were to do it over again, he'd still want to talk to her. He didn't mean for her to die. If anything, she was the first woman he felt something other than generic apathy towards...

_The continuation of avoxing is necessary._

** ...**

Fingers fly across the keys and dials. Only sixty seconds until the Gamemakers give the launch rooms the signal. The largest of the team flips switches and inspects the camera angles. Several have already been rendered disabled by muttations. It's a minor setback, not enough to actually concern the crew behind the hundreds of thousands of cameras.

While anticipation begins to run to its climax- the beaked man jitters nervously behind his screen and glances sideways towards the elderly gentleman beside him. The senior ignores him and lights up a cigarette- paying no heed to the blonde woman who wrinkles her nose in distaste behind him.  
Though they are nervous, it is not their first Hunger Game. Those four have worked behind several before, but never with such high-stakes riding upon them. Not with the Government threatening them individually with severe punishments should these Games happen to fail.

-for the three rookies however, not a trace of fear or worry creases their faces. The identical pair touch their screens on occasion and share sideways glances with their boss- waiting for the 'all clear' to give the final signal. The girl sits patiently however, staring at the real time clock at the bottom right hand corner of her machine.

'_-you want advice sweetheart? Then remember this song, and never forget it. Not ever, you understand me-?'_

'_I want advice grandfather, not a song-!'_

Iilvsea Crane twitches. The seconds are passing faster than before. All eyes in the room turn to her back- waiting for her to announce it. Slowly, the sniper's successor brushes the choppy blue hair from her eyes- and finally opens them wide to watch the opening curtain rise on her masterpiece.

The green crosshair in her right eye glints almost mechanically as she focuses hard upon her screen. With a stiff nod, she turns left to Winn, and then right to Remy- pointing her fingers at them like guns and letting her excited smile slowly split across her face, cutting open her cheeks- scaling towards her ears- and allowing the skin to strain against the smile's edges.

"_Since you desire it,  
it's always there.  
If you can change,  
everything will change."_

No forgetting. Never forgetting. This is the moment she has waited for since she first learned of his burden; vowing to carry it from his shoulders and onto hers. There is no way she will allow this duty to best her. He overcame fate, as will his granddaughter.

With a steady hand- Iilvsea Crane presses her finger against the screen. Following suit, each of the remaining six does the same. And in a hard voice, they whisper in almost perfect unison-

"Go."

_The Hunger Games and its absolute control of Panem is necessary."_

Anticipation reaches its peak. The Capitol and the Districts bristle with excitement and curiosity as the television screens flicker to life. A pair of eyes opens. Then another. And another. Red, orange, green, blue, purple, black, grey- the camera flashes from one to another before their bearer can be recognised. Behind their glass it is possible to see the fear, amazement and concentration working hard inside each tribute as they take in the arena around them- a dome-shaped cage of rose vines and thorns- all centred around a gleaming cornucopia.

To the audience, they see all that awaits the children. The forest of steadily enlarging trees. A lake of glittering gold water. Patches of pink flowers and the opening to a glistening ice cavern. Rocks suspended by the rose vines that float high above the rose-dome, disappearing high into the thick, white clouds.

Entire families grip one another for support. A Mother watches with a tear-stained face as her hands dig into her knees. A sister peers out between her fingers. A brother watches cautiously. A Father does his best not to destroy the television screen. Friends watch and wait- unable to bear what may be happening in mere moments.

And strangers- so many strangers- watch and shiver with excitement.

It begins.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, let the 125th Hunger Games, the 'Fifth Quarter Quell' and the '_Capitol Games_'- _begin-!_"

_For the sake of Panem._

_...  
_

_

* * *

_**Capitol Question #015; any last words you'd like to say to any of our twenty-four tributes?**


	41. Bloodbath of the Roses

**A Vivid Note: **So it begins. After all the ground I've dragged you across, _you_ have followed through to the beginning of the end. Thank you for your praise-worthy patience. I hope this will satisfy what you've been waiting for. **Sponsoring has officially started**, but remember to be cautious with what you send.

I have been wondering about this chapter from the very beginning. The pivotal 'bloodbath', which we've all been looking forward to... or dreading, judging by the reviews and messages I've received.  
There was one review in particular that caught my heart.  
LittleSchemer wrote '_They're more than just words, they're actual living, breathing people, or at least it feels that way_.'

Everyone, this is why I took 40 chapters of your time just to reach this moment, because _they're not just words anymore_. When a character dies- feel the wind rush from your lungs; a person has left the world- and they're **not coming **_**back**_.

My darling readers, my beautiful friends- here we are. By the time these Games are done, only one will remain. One life out of twenty-four... will escape.  
Liotta, Jason, Natalia, Marshall, Francesca, Holland, Minerva, Vinel, Ari, Laco, Faye-Anna, Brandit, Galaxy, Ferroh, Koriana, Diego, Britney, Montserrat, Evon, Jasse, Cotton, Vince, Sapphire, Julian- thank you. I love each of you.

To me, and to many others, you'll never be 'just words'.

**Capitol Question #016; if you were in the bloodbath, what would your course of action be?**

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Britney Frailer; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 9._

Everything seems so much larger than it does on television. The metal plate beneath me is almost a metre wide in diameter, and the golden cornucopia ahead of me is almost as tall as a single-story house. Its tail pokes through the roof of the dome made of roses; the light of the sun spilling down upon it from above.

Is that... the only way out of these walls of roses? My chest rises and falls rapidly with my uneven breaths. I had been hoping to turn and run from the bloodbath- but with those walls of vines being so thick that they block out the sun- I don't think that's an option anymore.

'_Just stay calm Britney,_' I think desperately. '_Get away from the bloodbath and hide somewhere far away. No crying. No panicking. Just stay calm and don't die._'

But it's so hard to follow those rules when I can see the faces of my former peers twisting and contorting with their own desperations. To my left I can see the girl from 2- Natalia- mentally stretching and preparing herself for the fight that's to begin. And to my right, I can see the boy from 3 doing his best to contain his terror.

It doesn't look like I'll be in any immediate danger from these two- although I know that once Natalia reaches the mouth of the cornucopia, which is piled to the brim with spoils, she will no longer be harmless.

-I have to get away before that happens. Before she or any of the other fighters reach that horn and take up arms. I suppose I'm at an advantage, not being in an alliance... I don't have to hang around or catch up with an ally... putting myself at risk...  
Although it should be an advantage, it makes me search for Galaxy's figure amongst the others. My eyes flit from tribute to tribute, seeking her out- until I recognise the pure white hair and blank eyed stare seven tributes to my left, the last tribute visible without being obscured by the cornucopia.

"_I can just kill myself._"

That's what she had said before leaving me mortified and scared before the murderous Gamemakers. The anthem has only just begun, and I begin to consider that perhaps she has had second thoughts since that day- when her head unmistakably faces towards me and we lock eyes.

On that day of training, Galaxy Jones had tearfully looked at me with a smile and asked us to be allies. Yet here she is, technically the same girl- but undeniably changed forever. I open my mouth wordlessly, wondering if she can hear me, but all too soon she closes her eyes from mine.

And lifts her foot.

I barely have time to scream her name before Galaxy Jones' supernova overwhelms us all. An unknown girl shrieks in panic as I jam my eyes tightly shut- but not before I see a bloodied hunk of flesh splatter across her neighbours- causing the girl from 10 to throw up her bandaged hands and take a step back in alarm-

"_EVON!_"

The second explosion renders everyone rigid with the mortifying truth.

In a manner of seconds- two tributes have died. Twenty-two remain, and the gong hasn't even rung out yet for us to begin. It's a physical effort to keep my feet firmly planted on my plate- and not to stumble backwards as the unfortunate girl before had done. But I can't believe it- it doesn't seem at all real-!  
One second Galaxy Jones is staring at me. I could remember every exchange we had together. Then the next she's just a series of bloodied smears across her neighbours' faces and the ground around her-!

There's barely any time to get over this fact before the sound of the gong booms around us and my legs jerk forwards instinctively- hurtling me forwards towards the cornucopia.

_'Get away from here_' is the only coherent thought I have anymore. While the cornucopia is surely where all the dangerous people are headed- it's also the easiest exit for me to take. My legs are dashing on their own accord- and even as I hear the sounds of shouts and roars from all sides- I know that no one is moving as fast as I am. Someone is stumbling in from the left- but I reach the cornucopia first, breathing steadily as I rapidly survey what is lying before me.

Amongst all the crates of food, barrels of weaponry and boxes of clothes, blankets and other materials- I see five sturdy looking black duffel bags. Without a moment's hesitation I snatch up one by the handle and swing it over the cornucopia- hoisting myself up its golden surface.

"-YOU-!"

Someone beneath me yells hoarsely and I feel the toe of my boot just pull out of their reach as I pull myself on top of the gargantuan cornucopia. Its surface is blistering hot from the midday sun- but I take no notice as I sling the bag over my shoulder and grapple with its tail. I can hear the sounds of scuffling and shrieking around me- but I grit my teeth and keep struggling; ignoring it until the vines are within reach of my fingertips.

Thank Christ I'm nimble from all those years of pep squad. Otherwise pulling myself and this surprisingly heavy bag up off the tail and onto the top of the dome would be impossible. Pushing my legs hard against the cornucopia's golden surface- I scramble atop the rose-dome's top – paying no heed to the various cuts and wounds its absurdly sharp thorns inflict.

With my feet planted securely on the curiously supportive dome top- I continue to hear the screams and bellows of the tributes below. With a breeze whistling past me and my hair whipping about my face- I allow myself three seconds to swallow the horror before I turn towards the forest that encircles the trap of roses.

For a moment I tell myself that this is where I should head- until I notice the rose vines that spiral upwards above my head, and the unknown shadow that still looms over me. Moving away from the opening- legs shaking- I stare up at the seemingly endless large fragments of suspended land being held up by nothing but huge masses of the rose vines that climb so high up they vanish into the sky itself.

-swallowing again, I compare my choices. The forest, or these curious floating land forms. The other tributes are sure to escape into the forest. And climbing the vines will be painful... but...

"_-girls like us can't even get past the bloodbath..."_

Biting my lip, I ignore the stinging pain that comes with the rose thorns that pierce my palms and fingers. Instead of focusing on the pain or the roars of the bloodbath beneath me- I begin to climb.

Maybe girls like you can't Galaxy.

But I'm not like you.

**

* * *

**

_Natalia Marinos; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 2._

Only a minute in and one has already gotten away-! I had her by the foot, but that girl from 9 slipped through my hands before I could get a good enough hold of her. I couldn't focus properly when I mistook Brandit for that idiot Matthews- almost lunging at him before realising. In a flurry I begin throwing the weapons at all sides- searching for something like a small sword. Pushing aside lances, axes and a gargantuan claymore, I find something suitable and grab for its hilt-

"NATALIA- WATCH OUT-!"

Something hard pounds into my stomach, sending me flying backwards to the thorny ground. Jolting in alarm- I scramble to my feet before I catch sight of him- that monstrous guy from 8, 'Diego'- sending Brandit flying behind me with one fell sweep of a thick-staffed lance.

My mind sparks into incomprehensible pieces. Screaming words I don't recognise- I push myself upright only for a strong fist to collide into the right side of my face, sending me crashing back down to the ground crying out in pain as the thorns scrape my temple.

"-HahahAHAHAHA- nice one Monty-! Diego! Bags on your right!"

Montserrat from 8 dodges swiftly as someone tries to tackle him from behind- Vinel- and kicks back like a horse. It connects with Vinel's groin and the guy practically yowls in pain. He doubles over and hits the ground while I begin to struggle upright once more. I whirl around and see that Brandit is wheezing, obviously winded, but still trying to stand up and fight against the guys from 8 and 9.

Where is everyone else? If they've been killed this early on I'll never forgive them-! I spin back and grab for where I last saw Diego's leg- but the guy is no longer within reach. I snap my attention upwards and watch furiously as the giant hoists Montserrat up alongside him.

Then I notice four bulging duffel bags slung over his shoulder- the careers' packs- and I shriek furiously- hurtling for the cornucopia's side.

The packs. There's no way in hell I'm letting them get away with our packs-!

"-NOT SO FAST NOW-!"

A piercing pain jolts through my scalp as I'm forcibly tugged back by my hair. Still filled with uncontrollable rage- I'm unable to think straight as I'm suddenly turned and slammed into the cornucopia's side- faced once again with those infuriatingly gleeful eyes of Marshall Matthews.

"Hey witch." His smile splits across his face, eyes flitting after his comrades. "Be good and don't die before we can fight one on one, you got me?"

My entire body bristles with an intense anger I've never felt before. Pure, uncontrollable rage. I raise my hands and swipe for his face before the reality of the situation even sinks in-

"MARSHALL MATTHEWS-!"

Suddenly he ducks, and I watch as Brandit trips over his miss and rolls along the ground- smacking into a discarded barrel. Marshall, still grinning madly, thrusts his hand towards something I don't recognise and then hurtles back to me, throwing his arm back as the jagged knuckle duster fits perfectly across his fist.

"_-_DON'T MAKE ME_ BREAK OUR PROMISE~!"_

And the fist's teeth tear into my cheek- causing me to cry out in mind-stopping pain as the jagged metal rips straight through the skin. I push my arms out as hard as possible- pulling the fist back grazing along my nose- cutting more flesh from my face before the boy leaps for the top of the cornucopia- no longer smiling.

I heave from the intensity of this pain. It stings- it stings- it stings-! I can see my tattered cheek and the ribbons swaying slightly with my rocking body. Brandit scrambles for me- grabbing at my shoulders and asking me if I'm alright, but tears of anger and agony are spilling down my face and burning up my wounds. He whirls back around and grabs up the abandoned claymore- struggling to lift the gargantuan sword up as he stands guard for the second alongside the recovered Vinel for any potential enemies.

White hot pain has consumed my world. Breathing shallow breaths and doing my best to regain my senses- I stare around at the dome. From where I stand I can see that the few supplies that were scattered nearest to the plates have all been harvested. From my viewpoint I can see the boy from 1 has barely moved from his plate, and slightly behind him I can see that the dark-skinned boy from 7 is hacking away at the edge of the dome- cutting an opening for him and his tiny female partner to escape through.

He isn't the only one with that plan. As my breathing steadies itself and I prepare for the next attack- I watch the escapees. My eyes immediately find Ari Saint-Claire standing behind her guard-dog with a slingshot held taut in her fingers. All I can see of Laco is that he is desperately pulling apart the thorn-laden wall with his _bare hands_- desperate to create another exit.

Somehow during the scuffle- the wily girl from 8 had secured a bright white backpack and a hunting knife. She cuts through the wall with little difficulty- and slips through the thorny branches. I watch in curiosity as the pair from 3 darts out of nowhere and help one another through that same hole- with nothing between them but a large canister of water.

"Natalia- Natalia, we need to get moving-"

Brandit's voice brings me crashing back into my head. The pain dulling on its own- I grab for the sharp bladed rapier he holds out to me and shake myself awake.

I know what doing this means, killing others, but if this Game needs a bad guy- so be it- _I'll be the bad guy_. If I'm not willing to do all I can to get back home and save my mother from a lifetime of nightmarish insanity- then I don't deserve to survive these Games at all-!

"ALRIGHT GUYS!" All my energy comes flooding back as I turn to the assembled team. Everyone is here but Julian and Cotton. "You know what we have to do. Clear out-! Any stragglers- you should know what to do!"

Gripping hard on my rapier, I turn to the battlefield and dig my nails into the flesh of my cheek. Without so much of a wince- I tear away the stray bits of skin without hesitation.

I'm coming home Mom. I promise.

**

* * *

**

_Jason Blackheath; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 1._

I feel cold. For a moment I wonder if I've died- hoping it's true- but that's impossible. If I had died, there'd be something different. A bright light, or nothing but black. I wouldn't still be standing here, watching as the events of the bloodbath continue to play out before me.

The girl from 7 is dead, as is the girl from 10. Both of them took the easy way out- although only one did by choice. I had watched in surprise as the girl with ruined hands stumbled back, forgetting that a single move would end it all. There had almost been a fraction of a second where I thought I could see her terrified expression as she realised her mistake- but it must have been my imagination. There is no way she could have recognised what have happened. It was too quick.

For the arena to begin in a place like this- a cage made of roses; it feels almost like a sign. To give up the struggle against its hold and allow what's I've been dreading to finally happen. To do what Antony said and forget about the naive idea that I'll return back to Amethyst the same as I was before I left.

I can never go back. Either I die, or I come home a deranged lunatic like that monstrous man who destroyed the only token of hope I had. There is no way I'll allow myself to choose the latter.

No one seems to acknowledge me in their frenzy for freedom. The pair from 3 drags one another towards the outside- while the group of careers stand and stagger around the cornucopia. Three of them have been hurt a little. Three boys had escaped through the hole atop the dome after dealing some damage to one of the career girls- the leader I think.

Unsure of what I should do, I don't move too far from my plate. I regret not moving sooner as that girl had done. It would've been easier than waiting for the careers to do the job for me. Probably less painful.

It's obvious that this bloodbath isn't as fast paced as the usual ones containing District children. I guess it's because Capitol children just aren't as prone or willing to kill one another as the Districts' are. That might have once been a good thing, but in an arena- it'd just more agony waiting for the tributes with the guts to crack...

...don't make me crack. Please don't make me be the one to take lives. Make the others do it. Not me. I can't do that to my father, my sisters... Amethyst. Even my mother- wherever she might be- shouldn't have to see her son fall into madness...

"Hey! Hey- Sector 1! What are you doing?"

Wearily, I watch as the pack of careers approach me cautiously- as if my empty hands were clasping onto a dangerous weapon. Not wanting to mislead them, I shrug and shake my head.

"Nothing." I answer flatly. "Come and kill me."

This stuns the boy clutching to the gargantuan sword. He stares at me for a moment before turning to Natalia- who doesn't take her eyes off of me. While the group stands there and sizes me up- the girl from 11 comes sprinting over, arms laden with food and water- staring at one of the boys with livid eyes. No one acknowledges her.

Natalia speaks first, obviously suspicious. "Why are you so willing to die? If that were true- why didn't you jump like the other two?"

Only one jumped. The other didn't have a choice. Perhaps I'm not the only one to recognise this because the dead girl's Sector partner noticeably flinches.

Shrugging again, I stare at her. "I missed my chance. So do everyone a favour and finish me now, please."

No one moves. An odd exhaustion begins to fill me from the toes up. They don't believe me. They're so engrossed in these Games that they already believe that everything has an ulterior motive.  
Meekly, the girl who just arrived looks at one of the boys and says something about my score. 'It's probably a trap.' I hear her whisper, to which I shake my head.

"I got ten because I ripped the wings out, that's all." Would this have gone quicker if I had pretended to run? It's almost comical how they've fanned out around me yet aren't doing anything. "...I thought you guys are supposed to be the careers of this game. Careers usually kill during the bloodbath, don't they?"

This unnerves Natalia, who suddenly scowls. "They also don't fall for obvious traps."

I wonder why she's so frustrated. From what I've seen they haven't killed anyone yet, which will dramatically lower their sponsors if being the 'Career group' is their edge. As I think this- the same thought seems to occur to each of them, because in the silence it's becoming more apparent that I'm not about to whip out a knife and start attacking.

'This is it,' I'm sure they're all thinking. 'Whoever makes this kill will be the obvious leader of this group.'

"So... who'll do the honours?" The once-purple boy says sarcastically, looking over at the rest of them.

No one answers. While inside I'm still suffering from the suffocating feeling of hopelessness- it's almost amusing how reluctant this group is to actually do any killing. I wonder how the Capitol is viewing this scene.

The smaller girl beside him takes one look at me and recoils a little. "I-I'll pass... I'm not sure..."

"Oh for Christ's sake," Natalia's eyes flare with anger. "If you're going to be a part of this group, grow a spine Cotton-ball. _I'll _do it."

Natalia's words changes Cotton. The girl's shoulders rise in frustration and she digs deep in the front pocket of the hooded jacket we were all issued with, bringing out a plain dagger.

"I can do it-!" She snaps, brandishing it for the group to see. "I just thought that since you're so _intent _on being group leader- _you'd _want to do it _Natalia._"

Female rivalry; the three boys of the group stand a few steps back to give them room. With the bloodied Natalia gripping her sword and Cotton holding up her knife- it almost looks like they're about to fight one another instead of me. They stare each other down for the longest while- before Cotton huffs loudly and looks away.

"You do it, since I don't have a spine."

Rather than revel in her minor victory, Natalia immediately turns towards me. Her eyes narrowing and her knuckle growing white around the hilt of her sword, she takes a few steps towards me, separating her feet and holding the rapier as a baseball player would hold a bat.

She purses her lips. "You could've been a part of this group Jason. We could've avoided all this."

No more shrugging. I feel my eyes grow lifeless and I simply stare back at her. The shreds of skin hang limp from her cheeks as the once sapphire gem-stones glint dull with blood.

Amethyst. I chose to die this way. Please recognise that.

I sigh, and allow my eyes to close.

"I'd rather die here and now then as someone I never wanted to be."

A snort of derision, and then the sound of a blade slicing through the air. A girl squeaks and- somewhere- Amethyst screams in terror. Familiar pain of something entering my torso burns through my body- and I fall backwards onto the needle-like ground, breathing through gritted teeth as my slayer steps back.

"Alright guys. Now we scout for stragglers- then we set up camp. Let's move it!"

More footsteps. Whether they realise I'm still waiting for death- I'm not sure. I don't open my eyes. An odd pattern flickers through my eyelids... the sun that manages to split through the vines above, flickering against the black of the darkness like stars.

...ha... that's almost too funny... stargazing at a time like this... a smile creeps across my face. So this is how it is going to be is it...? Awaken on reaping day staring at the morning sun... die star-gazing at stars that aren't there...

The sound of vines crunching under foot, then something large blocks the stars from my sky. Without my smile disappearing of my body or even reacting, I feel a small sense of pride in how this is ending.

"...I'm sorry."

The heavy blade's edge falls upon my neck.

**

* * *

**

_Vince Pace; 12 years; the Capitol Sector 11._

It was easy enough to dart in and grab a simple hunting knife from the ground, but I hadn't been expecting such a pitiful bloodbath to allow competitors such as Liotta and Sapphire to survive through it. I had begun hacking away at the vines the second I reached the wall- and I hadn't been counting on Liotta flinging her arms around me- screaming in fear.

"Vince- we have to get out of here-!" Her eyes are filled with tears. I can feel my face twitching on its own accord. "Th-They're going to start moving on us soon-!"

For a second I consider swinging the knife into the pest's gut and continuing with my cutting- but when I see Sapphire come screeching to a half beside her- I realise that my chances are slightly diminished with the two of them here. I'd have to humour them a little longer- just long enough until I can get away from the pair of them.

"Alright, I'm working on it." I grit my teeth and resume cutting and sawing at the rose vines. They're tougher the closer they are to the base. "Just wait a bit more-!"

Sapphire throws worried glances over her shoulder and begins to push my shoulder. "Hurry, hurry!"

Right. Now I want to stab this blade into _both _their stomachs. The six days of pretending was far too much for me. My body floods with anger towards these two pestilent girls and wonders how I ever made it this far without strangling one or the other.  
Liotta I can understand- she looks too similar to Lily. It swayed my hand and made me want to pity her like I did the real girl. Sapphire however is a real challenge- and nothing can stop me from ending her, right here and now. Thank god Faye-Anna isn't here as well.

...to attack them both right now would be a mistake. Weak as they are, if they both were to lunge on me- I'd have some difficulty overpowering the pair of them.

My hand tenses around the blade's handle. With a few well placed cuts, I manage to make a hole big enough to squeeze through. Without telling the other two, I push my way through- arms over my head- and get through with a little trouble- as I had wanted. The moment my leg is free of the last vine- Sapphire starts pushing her own way through as well. She doesn't have the sense to push through arms first however- so she ends up screeching in agony as the vines leave cuts and lesions over her face.

"G-Guys-?" Liotta's trembling voice begins. "Th-They're going after Jason-!"

Shit. Those careers are actually on the move? I suddenly snap at Sapphire, who is still squirming in the vines. "Hurry up you idiot!"

The stunned look she gives me is hilarious. But she complies and pulls herself free after a few seconds, which finally allows Liotta to begin squirming through. Sapphire brushes herself down and looks at me anxiously as I continue to hold onto my knife.  
She wants to say 'why didn't you cut me free?' – but she's terrified of angering me. She'd be right to be, but it's her cowardice that pisses me off more. I'm sick of dealing with this.

"G-Guys-" I look up from my hand as Liotta thrashes. Just as I had expected, she's completely entangled because of those ludicrous wings of hers. "My wings-! T-They're stuck-!"

Sapphire looks alarmed, but she puts on a calm face. "It's okay- Vince, help me pull her through."

She reaches forwards for Liotta struggling hand- and that's when I decide to make my move. With a single step forwards, I ready the knife in my hand- grab onto her shoulder- and just as Sapphire's face registers her confusion- I plunge it into her neck.

_Yes_. Her eyes widen in panic and terror as her hands claw for the blade dug into her throat. I let go and watch as she stumbles backwards to the ground flailing- frantically grabbing for the dagger. I can't contain my pure joy as she smacks the handle sideways- no doubt digging the blade into her jugular and tripling the intense pain of choking on her own blood.

"-SAPPHIRE! SAPPHIRE!" Liotta's screeches ruin the moment as she hangs in the vines horrified. "V-VINCE! SAPPHIRE- YOU-!"

The girl continues to wriggle and squirm on the ground- but she's succeeded in pulling my dagger from her throat- thereby drowning herself even faster than before. I stand and watch smugly as the disgusting girl begins to gurgle and splutter- digging her hands at her throat to stem the increasing flow of blood-

"_SAPPHIRE-!_"

Picking up the discarded and bloodied knife, I turn now to the horrified Liotta. "Shut up already. We're in the _Hunger Games_. Did you really think she was going to live?"

Mouthing silently in her panic, Liotta stares at me mortified. Slowly, she begins to struggle _back _into the rose dome. I don't bother stemming my laughter as she just tangles herself further in the rose vines. Ignoring Sapphire's body- which is slowly beginning to lay still- I step towards Liotta- smiling at the terror rising in her face.

"Fun fact for you to mull over the next few seconds- _don't trust anyone _in a game to the death," I whisper nastily, leaning in closer to her face. "Especially when they're willing to pair up with someone as pathetic as you."

I take a moment to look over at Sapphire once again. Sure enough, she's no longer moving. The blood is still gleaming on her neck, the odd dribble oozing out of the wound.

"Even she would've turned on you eventually, and look how pathetic she was," I snort, holding the knife up for Liotta to see. "You should be happy I'm killing you instead of her. At least there's dignity... well, _some _dignity in this."

Liotta is still unable to form words. Her mouth continues to form the words 'why' and 'no'- but there's no voice behind them. Now and then she pushes against her binds and struggles more- but she knows it's futile. I ready my knife once more- knowing that there isn't a whole lot of time I can waste before the careers see Liotta still hanging and decide to finish her off themselves.

"-Oh, and one last thing," I hold the knife up to her nose, pleasure rippling through me as the girl's body goes stiff with fear. "I never liked you Lily. Not now, not ever. You just reminded me of another girl I pretended to like, that's all."

Liotta's mouth closes and tears begin to well up. No longer still with fear, she just stares at me in desperation and sadness.

Eyes narrowing, I bear my teeth in the widest smile I've ever had.

"So go to _hell ANGEL_-!"

With that sentiment- I bury the knife into the side of her throat- puncturing her jugular and squinting as the blood begins to pump out like a tap. Unlike Sapphire- Liotta McKensie doesn't thrash and claw at her throat- but she remains hanging in her case of vines- eyes filling with tears and mouth opening and closing with voiceless cries.

Huh. I feel my smile disappear as I pull the knife free and take a step back. Watching for a few moments, there's a definite sense of disappointment as the small girl dies quietly. No struggling and screaming... Liotta McKenzie just stays there in the vines, limp and useless.  
I frown. This isn't as fun as I thought it'd be. I imagined she'd be more amusing than Sapphire. But instead- her kill was empty and almost boring.

Drying the blood on the top half of my combat shorts, I take one last look at my first kills. Both were just a knife to the throat- but it had done the trick. I'll have to do something new for the next ones. With a smile, I return the knife to my belt and begin to sprint leisurely into the forest.

Happy Hunger Games mother. Were you watching? Keheheheh.

**

* * *

**

_Julian Farraday; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 12._

I stop running a lot sooner than I first intended, but only to observe and watch if anyone else has followed the same path as I have. I wait five minutes- more than enough time for a slower runner to overtake me- but no one appears through the cascade of trees behind me. With an internal sigh of relief- I promptly hike the tiny white pack up my shoulders and begin sprinting once again.

I've chosen to betray the career alliance offered to me by Natalia. After much thought and consideration- I've decided not to throw my life in with them; to throw Nikolai's faith in me away just to have a dishonourable leg up on the competition.  
There was nothing in that group of tributes I felt connected to. Most of them were simply bulked up or larger than the others- and that's why they were chosen. Myself included I suppose, being taller than most of the other boys.

If luck stays by me, I won't see them again. However chances are that the Gamemakers will help funnel tributes towards the career pack- so I shouldn't hope too much.

After grabbing this pack- I had turned and ran for the edge of the dome. There was no ready-made exit, so I managed to kick my way through the bramble with few issues. My calves are a little scratched up- but nothing too bothersome that I can't handle it.  
My first priority is to find water, and somewhere to set up shop for the night. Anything that happens along the way I'll have to deal with using nothing but my hands- because as far as I know, there's no weapon in this pack of mine.

This arena is obviously not based on any natural landforms. From the distance I've covered, I've recognised that the trees are gargantuan- some of their trunks at least as wide as the size of my bathroom. While I haven't seen any signs of wildlife- the birdcalls all sound quite regular, and there are the odd scratch marks here and there.

I don't know shit about hunting, so whether there are animals here or not means nothing to me. Back on the reaping day I was fairly relaxed because blood sports aren't that difficult. I had completely forgotten the survival aspect of these Games.

Then again, I also wasn't worried that entire day- also fairly confident in myself. Thinking back I barely remember walking up that stage or my siblings fighting in that flimsy goodbye tent. The chariots were uneventful enough- besides the arguing with Sapphire and my brief interest in Ari Saint-Claire.

...right... remembering Sapphire makes my face frown as I slow to a more relaxed pace. If I had to guess, I'd say she's dead by this stage. While the cannons haven't gone off yet, it's a safe bet she wouldn't have gotten far- not with a group of careers and that wall of vines holding the tributes in. I only saw one tribute get away- and that was the District 9 girl as she practically flew out of the top of the dome.

Honestly, I can't imagine Sapphire pulling off anything like that. While we weren't friends, and she was more than annoying to deal with- I can't say I wanted to see her dead. Really there's no one I _want _to see dead- but there are others who deserve it more I'll admit.

There's no way of keeping track of time other than the sun- which is being obscured by the massive canopy of these monstrous trees- so I estimate how long I've been moving by how much my feet are starting to ache in these stupid hiking boots. Perhaps half an hour has passed since I slipped out of the roses- or a little more than that.

Just as I begin wondering, the first of the cannons ring out and I stop in my tracks to count them.

One blasts out. And then another, followed by three more. The forest is devoid of birdcalls and I wait patiently to hear if there are any more- but the air is still.

Five cannon blasts. That means five of us twenty-four are gone.

Just like that. Huh...

I know that two of those cannons are for the two tributes blown up from their starting mines- I couldn't see which because of the cornucopia in my way- but the other three were murdered. Who they might've been I can't really guess.

For the most part I've been walking in a straight line, so I take a five minute break to rest against tree and finally crack open the backpack. Settling in amongst its roots, I flip open the latches that keep the top closed and peer inside.

An empty water canister and a loaf of white bread sits at the top. Beneath them are a thin blanket, matches and an aerosol can. While I can understand the need for the food and blanket- I sneer a little at the matches and the can.  
Lighting a fire would be a rookie mistake. Pretty much anything can be eaten raw- except cows and chickens, but I doubt there'll be any of those around here- and fires can be made with rocks and sticks. Although I can see some tributes needing them- what on earth would the _aerosol can _be needed for?

I open the cap and take a whiff, and recoil in distaste. It smells like bug spray, or heavy-duty repellent. Definitely won't be spraying this anytime soon. I shove it along with everything else deep into my backpack and pull out the water canister, clipping it to my belt.  
Water will be the first priority, then resting for the night. While I doubt I'd ever be able to scale one of these trees- sleeping amongst one's roots sounds like a decent idea.

"Ch-Chess- B-Buh-_Break_!"

Slamming myself back down into the roots, I stifle my breath as I hear footsteps running from the other side. Listening hard while grinding my teeth- I hear the pair stop a little bit up ahead before they resume talking.

"Okay, but only for a minute okay? We've got to get as much distance as possible!" It's a girl's voice. If I remember correctly, 'Chess' was the nickname of that girl from 3. "Plus, if we don't find water- we're going to be toast."

She's surprisingly savvy about this. During the interviews she seemed more than a little... vapid. The boy wheezes loudly, and I hear the crunch of leaves as they squat down and take their breather like I had done.

I better not move until they're gone. While I don't pose them any threat- not unless I have to- it's unlikely I'd be able to convince them of that. While I'm no doubt stronger than the pair of them- I'd rather not have to fight two-on-one, as I'd definitely come out of it for the worse.

"Chess- I-I'm scared... I'm really... really scared..."

There's more heavy breathing. Then-

"I know Holly. I am too."

...then... crying... and not just quiet tears... but loud, singing-like wails...

I look up at the canopy above me and breathe a silent sigh.

Barely a day in and I'm already sick of this. Fantastic.

**

* * *

**

_Minerva Nanaia; 18 years; the Capitol Sector 4._

I run what feels like a damn mile before finally slowing down to collect my thoughts. They're racing as fast as my heart and I sink to my knees by a tree- letting the bow fall to the ground before me as I rationalise everything that happened.

-Before the gong rang, I had _definitely _intended to run away from the cornucopia. I knew in my stomach that I couldn't survive a bloodbath battle with Natalia and her group, and I wasn't about to put myself in that situation and its dangers.  
So when the gong rang and I propelled forwards- eyes on that bow ten feet away from the cornucopia- I could barely understand myself. I was practically _killing _myself without realising!

She came out of nowhere. The girl from 11- Vinel's girl- came barging from the sides and tried to grab the weapon first. There was a knife in her hand, but she seemed to forget it in her mania. I had dived out of the way- but I wasn't expecting for _him _to scoop her up and push her away.

_"TAKE IT- TAKE IT AND GO! GO NOW!"_

Vinel then turned and forcibly yelled at the girl to go take the other supplies- and she did with a stunned look on her face. Then he gave me one final manic stare before running to the cornucopia to aid his friends in stopping some boys who were escaping through the top.

I barely knew what I was doing. I snatched up the bow and ran for my life- kicking apart a hole in the wall of thorns and escaping into the forest outside. No one crossed my path as I ran- and the bow and the quiver of arrows continued to smack against my back while I bolted.

That guy really had saved my life. There's no telling what that girl would've done had he not come along and saved me. Surely he'll pay for it later when she questions his motives. Vinel is part of the career group after all, isn't it? He's supposed to kill tributes- not help them get weapons and then send them on their way.

...part of me is furious with him. To be in this level of debt to a person is agonising- knowing that one of us will die soon enough and there's no way of repaying him. Not unless by some kind of miracle they allow both players of the same Sector to win... but that can't happen. Not after what almost happened the last time they proposed that.

Besides, what I should be thinking now is not about gratitude- but about survival. I made it away from the arena with nothing but a bow- so I have no water or food to sustain me. While the bow- if I can shoot prey as well as I can shoot _stationary targets_- can provide me with food, unless drinking the blood of animals quenches my thirst- I'm going to be in trouble.

Lord... my face screws up in despair. I sure hope I have sponsors who want me to get home to Vidar. Otherwise I might be in more than a spot of trouble...

Five cannons rang out just before, which means five tributes are dead. It's sort of unbelievable to think about, people that you've been around for the past six days suddenly _dead_- but there's no getting around that fact. And as the days wear on, more and more are going to fall to the traps of this arena and die as well...

-I won't let it be me. Not when I know this arena so well, being its original designer. Though I didn't plan for the trees to be so large- the 'rose-cage' was definitely the one I drew up to impress my father. They've made changes to it to make the whole place more difficult- like the rocks I saw floating above the dome which I never added- or the notes stating that there's an 'underground' beneath the ice caverns- but everything else is mine.

The only thing that worries me is what other 'additions' and synthetic changes they might have made to throw me off course...

If I run far enough, I'll reach the lake sometime today and be able satisfy my thirst. While the main lake is in one place, there are a series of small rivers throughout the forest which will be able to tell me which way to go. That they won't have changed.

No other tributes seem to be following the path I took, so I slow down to a walk so as not to wear myself out. Who knows after all? The lake might be more than a day's hike from here- and though ground is heading downwards on a very gradual slope- I won't make it far if I run flat out with no water to help me.

I envy those who stayed at the cornucopia and get to enjoy all the spoils left behind. They'll no doubt have all the food, water, weaponry and warmth they need. I can only hope that the Gamemakers won't be backing them the whole Games like they do most years- otherwise this fight is going to be very short in the careers' favour.

While I'm thankful to Vinel, I'm not a huge fan of his allies. Natalia spent a good deal of training unnerving me with unfriendly stares, and after his girlfriend's display- I'm guessing I don't have any friends back there.  
It shouldn't matter. I was planning to do these Games alone, and alone is how I shall play them.

Before these Games began, I knew I wouldn't go out of my way to kill others. However if someone attacks me, I won't play nice. I'm going home alive- even if it means taking out the more violent of my peers.

I'm going home alive, and I'm going to get married, just as I planned.

...And hopefully my parents will be there as well... and all of us will be free of these Games and 'Iilvsea Crane's' grasp... free to live the lives we were given.

Swallowing what little saliva I have, I glance down at my engagement ring; my token.

I'll make it home. Vin-

"Ah-" My face goes red with embarrassment and guilt.

Vidar. I mean Vidar-!

* * *

**Capitol Question #016; if you were in the bloodbath, what would your course of action be?**

**(**_If you are curious as to how many points you have, do a quick check of your reviews/question answers before sending in any sponsor-items. The most you'll need at this stage is '10'. Double check the footnote of Chapter 25 if you are still confused about item prices before messaging me with your 'gift'._**)**


	42. Continue to Smile for Them

**A Vivid Note: **Did you know how proud I was to have gotten to the actual Games part of this story? So happy that I just sat there and marvelled at the sheer _perfection _of that moment. It's a feat to ever reach the Games portion of these works- so I'm glad to say I achieved at least that.  
What a wondrous moment it will be to see that lovely little 'complete' sign tacked onto this story, won't it be?

**New Poll! **With some characters, alas, dead- I'd like to see who the majority of readers would like to see advance- as in, _survive- _to the final 8. Be sure to vote so we can all see! (_And so I can have a taste of who everyone is hoping to see in the climax of the story._)  
I suppose the winners of the first poll were Ari with 15 votes, followed by Marshall with 13 votes, and third Cotton with 10 votes. Those results surprised me greatly. I'm almost hoping these will as well!

Here's hoping this update finds you well! Happy Hunger Gaming! And to all you sponsors hanging onto your points- thanks for making me smile, and your tributes panic. Some of them might be needing help soon... or presently~!

**Capitol Question #017; which tributes would you like to see kiss (but most likely won't)?**

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Jasse Harridan; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 10._

There was an awful period of waiting inside the rose dome with the rising stench of the dead before we realised the hovercrafts can't reach inside the dome to take away the pieces of Jason and the mashed up remains of the girl from 7 and Evon. Natalia refused any suggestions to move our camp elsewhere- so our only option was to move the pieces outside ourselves.

Naturally, neither she nor Cotton wanted to help- "_We're sorting the supplies!_"- so it was up to us guys to do the dirty work.

"Dibs Jason." Brandit had muttered unenthusiastically, which caused both Vinel and I to groan.

As I stand over the unknown but sizeable clumps of singed flesh that are scattered across the ground, I swallow hard. I don't know who I'm picking up- but it can only be one of two people... one of which I had been prepared to kill for in order to save.  
Evon had never thanked me for what I did to Doctor Galen- but she wasn't angry. There was a moment when she was being taken away for her cuts where our eyes locked and I swear she smiled.

...I was so sure she was going to live past the bloodbath. I was sort of hoping that I could convince Natalia to let her tag along with the rest of us. For her to die like that... without even realising what she was doing... it's unfair... I had wanted... for her suffering to have amounted to something... a smile... anything...

While I can hear Vinel dry retch as he picks up a sizeable chunk of someone, all I feel is sadness when I grasp the bloodied mess. '_This was a girl_' I keep thinking. '_She had a family and friends. Now she's just a lump of... of..._'

It's messy work. Brandit finishes first- unsurprisingly- since he only has to drag Jason's decapitated body and head outside rather than pick up hundreds of scraps. To my surprise he takes the time to gently lay the boy's head down by his body almost ceremoniously before bowing his head in silence.  
Natalia hadn't killed Jason, she'd only cut him. He could've survived if he actually wasn't so bent on dying- but Brandit finished him off by cutting off his head with that giant sword of his.

Maybe Brandit feels responsible. He shouldn't- but I guess there's no point in telling him that. He steps back through the hole of the rose dome and takes the time to pull the vines closed behind him. They tangle together and obscure the corpse that sleeps outside.

Vinel and I just toss the lumps of flesh through the holes in the vines. It takes a while, but we finish after about half an hour- and all that's left of the exploded girls are blood marks and the tinier scraps. While I felt sick when I found the remains a charred hand- which could easily have belonged to the other girl- it made me think so much of Evon it was a struggle not to hurl it away from me.

The sounds of hovercrafts tell us that we've succeeded in getting rid of the bodies- and we return back to the cornucopia with bloody hands and grim faces. Both of the girls have their heads down and serious expressions. Natalia looks up from her stockpile of blankets and spare clothing and frowns.

"You finished?" She asks, obviously frustrated for one reason or another. Brandit nods. "Good. It would've been hard to stay here if we just let them rot."

Insensitive as she is, I can tell she has a point to staying here. The cornucopia is the pivotal point of any arena- and careers rarely set up camp away from it unless for a good reason. Like that one year the cornucopia was set high above a volcano, for instance.

"Find anything interesting?" Vinel asks, trying to wipe the bloody muck off onto his shorts.

Cotton hands him a bottle of water, which he begins to douse his hands in. Natalia watches this with distaste; probably annoyed that the water is being wasted on something so trivial. In the couples' defence though, it's not like we'll be running out anytime soon- altogether there seems to be about forty litres of the stuff piled up at the back of the cornucopia's mouth.

"Nothing interesting, but there _is _something weird," Natalia turns to Brandit and holds up a round metal cylinder. "There are about twenty of these... _oxygen _tanks. They don't usually have these- right?"

"No they don't." Brandit shakes his head. I watch in silence; he seems to be her main confidant. "Think it's to do with those land forms overhead?"

"If they are, we're not going up there," Natalia eyes the hole in the dome-top. "Not until we have to anyway."

Something in my gut tells me that the Gamemakers hear this with a smirk on their faces.

It's been a while since anything has been said. Vinel squats down beside Cotton while Brandit leans against the mouth of the horn. Still feeling a bit emotional from picking up those pieces- I speak first.

"So what now?"

Our career group pauses. A definite funk is hanging deep in the air as we all think about how much has happened in such a short time. Five people have died, one of those because of us. Before the hovercrafts took them away we found the younger girls still caught up in the vines- meaning that someone out there has already killed twice as much as us.

-And before the Games have even begun- one of our group members has already deserted us. Natalia realised that Julian had abandoned us the moment we could account for all five deaths.  
The idea of someone agreeing to her alliance and then running out before the real trouble starts has infuriated her. It worries me, because I've been having doubts about this whole alliance ordeal.

I'm not career material. I can fight, sure, but that doesn't mean I want to.

Suddenly Natalia speaks.

"First we pool the supplies together," her face is serious as she talks. "Anything that is sent to us by sponsors is shared equally among the group- that includes weapons and food. Second- we're going tribute hunting. Tonight."

There's a chill that runs through the air as she says 'tribute hunting'.

Because I realise my best chance of leaving this alliance will be then, and only then.

"Understood?"

A few beats pass. Vinel glances at me and I do my best not to falter as my mind flows with shaking, traitorous thoughts.

"Yeah. Got it."

* * *

_Laco Sykora; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 5._

"Laco- Laco you're hurt-! You've got to rest now-!"

"I'm okay, they've stopped bleeding alright? We've just got to find water or something..."

My hands have gone numb from the pain all the puncture wounds have brought me. While they stopped bleeding about an hour back, the pain continued on anyway. I haven't let them slow me down- but Ari is more than preoccupied with them, constantly asking me to take it easy and rest.

Resting so soon would be a mistake. We made it away from the bloodbath with nothing but a slingshot to sustain us- so finding food and most importantly _water_, is vital.  
While we could have tried to scoop up more supplies- getting away from that cornucopia was a priority. Natalia has made it more than clear she isn't fond of neither Ari nor me- and we'd rather not cross that bridge until we have to.

Still, Ari won't stop grabbing at my hands and wincing aloud. "Laco, they might get infected- some of these are really deep-"

"What do you want to disinfect them with?" I stare at her, still striding forwards. "Spit? Because at the moment that's all we have. That and loads of giant trees. What's your pick?"

I'm not trying to be nasty, I just don't want her to worry about something that's pointless. If my hands get infected, it's not like they're going to fall off entirely... at least not right away, and it would depend on what exactly infects it.  
There's really no point dwelling on it. When we find water we'll wash it off and be done with it. Until then I just need Ari to keep moving until we find some.

Despite not meaning any ill will, I have upset her. Sighing, I reach for her free hand and hold it as we walk- smiling as I see her saddened expression fade. If one were watching us- you wouldn't think we were anything but a pair of sweethearts taking a stroll in the woods.

The slingshot would look quite out of place however.

"Let's talk about something, anything, just until we find some signs of water- okay?" I suggest calmly, squeezing her hand slightly. "Getting panicked won't do us any good."

"I know." Her voice is hushed, filled with embarrassment and a tinge of sadness. "I guess I just wish I had grabbed more than a slingshot while we were still back there."

I laugh softly. "I'm glad you didn't. Wasting any more time there would have been a mistake. Besides, we can always go back if we have to."

Ari looks at me, obviously taken aback by that idea. "You're kidding aren't you?"

"No, not at all." I feel my smile slide off my face. "Come on Ari. Vernon isn't going to help us with sponsors... if we _have _any. No offense- but I think some people might be put off sponsoring a _pop star _in a fight to the death."

Just as I knew it would, this strikes Ari hard in the ego and she pulls her hand forcibly out of mine with a sour looking scowl on her lips as she begins trying to tell me off for characterising her- but not before I burst into laughter and the girl becomes even more furious.

"That's not funny Laco," She growls. As bitter as her voice is, her face is that of a scorned child. "You're the last person I want to hear saying things like that..."

"Just a joke to lighten your spirits _Miss Saint-Claire,_" I croon, winking as her shoulders stiffen in frustration. "Oh come on, lighten up. I know it's a sore spot with you, but you're going to have to let it go. How else are you going to survive when I'm dead and it's just you against the Games?"

"-Don't say that!"

The desperation and upset in her voice wipe my playful banter off the map. Guilt overwhelms me when I see the hurt in Ari's eyes and immediately I think of Namer. I know that's who she's thinking of too. While I've never lost anyone important to me- Ari has. And it's clear that wound still hasn't healed.

Perhaps being playful wasn't the right way of doing things...

"I'm sorry... really, I am Ari." I sigh, pushing my scuffed hands into my jacket pockets. "I was being stupid. Forgive me?"

From the silence she's giving me, I'm guessing not. Still- her shoulders relax a little and we walk a good deal of time in complete silence, nothing to accompany us but the sounds of our feet in the increasingly softening ground. It's not until I start becoming annoyed at how much my boots are sticking when I realise what is happening.

-Mud! The ground is growing softer and softer with mud!

Ari and I exchange looks of excitement; everything is forgotten as we begin running towards the source of all this moisture. As we begin to slip and occasionally lose our balance- I finally recognise how thirsty all this walking has truly made me. We pass through some trees and the sun suddenly blares down from ahead where the canopy suddenly ends-

"There's a clearing up ahead!" I pant, unable to stop grinning. "Just a little further!"

"Mm!" Her response is breathless. I can see a glint of hope in her eyes. "Just a bit-!"

We burst into the clearing, the sun above reflecting completely off the water and into our tired eyes. We almost cry out in joy from the beautiful sight of such a large body of water- a large, freshwater lake-

...and we slow to a stop, and let our eyes open properly as a cloud drifts across the sun. Then and only then do the smiles vanish from our faces and Ari backs away, obviously confused from what the light blinded us from seeing.

"...what... is this...?"

I don't know how to answer her. Right now I don't know what to think at all. The water sparkles back maliciously, just as inviting and tempting as it had been before- waiting quietly and patiently for us or someone else to find it- but only now that we've reached it have our hopes been dashed with obvious suspicion.

"That... that can't be good..." Is all I can manage to weakly say, falling to my knees. "There's no way that's... natural..."

Of all things... I can't even imagine what this purpose might be...

A shining lake... a large, gleaming, _beautiful_ lake... full of _golden_ water...

...and this may just be a hunch... but I _don't _think this stuff is drinkable...

* * *

_Koriana Wilder; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 8._

The sky is already beginning to tinge with orange by the time I decide to call it quits for today. While I'm sure the Games began around ten or eleven- it must now be around six or seven. Unless this arena is in a completely different hemisphere- and if that's the case my body clock is having trouble handling all the stress of today.

Five people dead, two of which were blown to pieces before the gong rang out. I can't help but wonder what the Capitol thinks about that- its first examples of fighters and we're willing to explode rather than fight.  
It's a relatively small bloodbath, compared to the ones that have happened in years before. One bloodbath had fifteen of the players die- _more than half _in a day.

While part of me is glad that we aren't so prone to murdering one another as some tributes have been in the past, my common sense is terrified about what's sure to come next to compensate for the low body count.

Gamemakers like to have disasters, traps and little tricks to keep the audience entertained when tributes aren't doing the job on their own. In an arena like this- I can't really guess what they'll try to throw at us in order to make their 'show' just a little bit more exciting...

I haven't run into anyone else. There was a time when I knew that the pair from 3 was a little ways behind me, but I split off to the left and they kept going on forwards. Now that hours have passed, I have no idea where everyone else might be in comparison to me.

Perhaps now would be a good time to check the little white backpack I picked up...

The reason I had refrained from opening the pack too early was because I might have gotten preoccupied with my findings. Now that I'm pretty sure I have placed a good distance between the careers and I- it should be safe to take a peek.  
White isn't the best color for a backpack, but it's the same color as my hair- which is a small reason why I chose it over the other objects on the ground.

Sitting on top of everything is a bag of dried fruit and nuts. I push it aside and find an empty bottle of water- I wasn't expecting it to be full since the bag was so light to carry- a torch, some extra batteries and a thin blanket. Just as I try to push everything back, I notice that I've missed something. Digging my hand in deep- I find what seems to be a bottle of iodine.

To disinfect water with, I guess.

Alright. So basically I have warmth, a weapon and food, but I don't have water. That can be easily fixed if I keep walking. I'll be bound to find something drinkable. The animals have to drink too after all, and I've seen a few tufts of fur and some claw marks on the trees. The claw marks are growing more frequent as well, so I figure I'm getting closer to the source of water.

Either that or the beast's hideout, but I kind of have my heart set on the first.

What I don't want is to run into anyone else. The more time I can spend as far away from the others- the better. Anxiously biting my upper lip, I make a quick scan around me just to be sure that I'm not already. Based on what I've seen in the Hunger Games already, it wouldn't surprise me at all if that happened.

-There are some that I can afford to cross paths with, but others that I can't. The group of careers back at the cornucopia are the main example of who I shouldn't play too close to.

"_-I'll fight for you if it comes to it._"

Then there are others like Diego, who I'd almost consider allying myself with if I weren't so determined to stick this entire Game out alone. While I walk I can't help but wonder where he is- and how his friendships with those boys from 2 and 8 are going.  
Hearing that he had made a friendship had made me happy. If anyone deserves a trustworthy alliance in these Games- it's him.

Part of me wishes I could've promised him my allegiance as well. I'm sure if I had partnered up with him I would be safe much longer, and be promised food, water, protection and warmth- but something about that feels wrong. While he wouldn't see it as using him- I would.

That's why it's easier for me to take care of myself in this stand of mine; to just wander this arena and hope that I don't run into a Gamemaker trap or a murderous tribute.

Except the odds of me surviving all the way to the end without meeting with another tribute is so ridiculous I can't really hope for that. Instead, I should be hoping that I can play a successful game of cat and mouse with absolutely everyone else- and hope that I don't trip off a cliff or into someone's camp in the meanwhile.

-Although the odds of me not doing that is also fairly... bad.

I keep walking for what seems to be an hour. The sky is still orange- so I guess the anthem and those faces in the sky that I once watched tributes staring up at will soon be appearing. While I know who two of those faces will be- there are three that are going to surprise me. I'm almost... almost _dreading _finding out who they will be.

For a moment I picture looking up through the canopy and seeing Diego's blank eyed stare gazing down at me. My throat clenches up and I push that image out of my mind with all my strength.  
Not him. He won't be dead, surely. He's so big after all- and he has his 'friends' with him. No, Diego will be alive. Diego is out here in this forest- hanging out with Marshall and that boy from 8. They're probably chatting away happily about something... something ridiculous I'm sure...

_"You're just jealous because I have puppies."_

_ "I'm a boy! What would I do with puppies?"_

Without warning, I clench my jaw as my chest begins to tighten around my heart. Marabeth and Damon's playful voices from the morning of the reaping float into my head like from a dream- disappearing as quickly as they came.  
My heart hurts. I feel the blue pencil charm gently brush against the back of my tensing hand as I become painfully aware of the necklace that hangs around my neck.

...Marabeth... Damon... I look up at the canopy, wondering if they can see me now. If the cameras are on me- and they're watching from our unwelcoming white leather couch- holding one another's hands as their sister Kori' struggles through this forest alone...

Tears burn in my eyes.

You guys... I'm doing this for you... I'm going to get through this without hurting anyone, without killing anyone... I'm doing this for only you two... not Mom and Dad... not the Capitol... not for my life or some 'rebellion'... just for you...

Swallowing, I breathe heavily and allow myself two minutes rest as I whimper-

"Marabeth... Damon... I love you..."

* * *

_Faye-Anna Cholores; 14 years; the Capitol Sector 6._

"We should stop for today."

The sound of Ferroh's voice alarms me after hours of trudging silence. The dead leaves at the base of the trees scrunch and crumble as he slides down amongst them- resting his head against the thick bark of the tree. I stare at him blankly for a moment before he glances up at me warily- which causes me to scoot over and sit down three feet away from him- wrapping my arms tightly around my knees.

We haven't talked since that incident at the party. I almost thought that seeing that... that _thing _might have blown away his offer of being allies but...

_"FAYE. GET OVER HERE!"_

Ferroh had practically grabbed me in one arm once the gong rang- cutting open a hole in the dome for us to escape through. The whole time we were running I was thinking 'is this really happening?' because it didn't seem real to me. This guy really _does _want me as an ally.

...but to be honest, I'm still a little frightened of him. Not only that- but I feel guilty as for feeling that way in the first place! Racism is never something that's sat well with me, and I've read numerous iconic books about what racism can do to a person. I used to read them and think 'that'd never be me'- but here I am, terrified that if I sit too close and brush against his leg that he'll whip out that knife and finish me here and now.

...some ally I am...

"Are you tired?"

His voice startles me once again, but I answer quickly by shaking my head furiously. It's not that late yet, and for me to fall asleep now would just be a burden. The surly looking boy sinks deeper towards the ground, staring up at the tree branches far, _far _above our heads- before saying-

"I was hoping we could talk a little."

Eh? My head snaps to the side as Ferroh continues to stare down at his hands. There's a twirling flash of colours- and my eyes flit towards the tiny drink umbrella that Ferroh is holding. Spinning it between his thumb and index finger, he looks up at me and smiles dubiously.

"Expecting something else?" He asks, raising a curved brow- to which I shake my head frantically again.

"It's just... a-an odd thing to see in the Hunger Games..." I answer with a stammer, unable to take my eyes off it. "Is that your-?"

He smiles, giving it a little shake. "Token. Yeah. My friend dropped it in the tent. Figured I'd take it with me."

Wow. Suddenly I'm overwhelmed by the story this little, seemingly-insignificant umbrella must hold to Ferroh. I wonder what kind of person his 'friend' was, and why they had carried this umbrella in with them to talk to him. How long had they been friends? Why were they in possession of this little pink, yellow and purple paper creation in the first place?

"Her name is Ashen. We've been friends since I began high school."

My body goes rigid for the final time as Ferroh pulls me towards him, forcing me to lay my head against his arm. He then holds out the umbrella for me to take. With trembling fingers, I gently hold it by the toothpick as the boy who is so much bigger, so much stronger than I- regales me with a bedtime story of his friendship with the person behind this umbrella.

"I was nervous because we had moved from across town, and I didn't know anyone in the area. When I started school I was a little overwhelmed by the number of students there," As Ferroh speaks and I spin the umbrella as he did, I find myself feeling strangely calmed and relaxed by his deep tone of voice. "No one took a second look at me. It was the middle of the year and everyone had already made their friends. I was an outsider, and when people looked at me- that's all they saw; a stranger. But not Ashen..."

Something feels oddly familiar about this situation, even though I know I've never fallen asleep outside, nor have I ever laid my head against a boy before. Yet there's nothing romantic about this situation... it's as if I was leaning against my brother on a bus or in the car... while he talks about anything just to keep me from getting motion sickness...

"-everyone thought she was strange. Ashen is the kind of girl who'll jump onto a lunch table and start singing in a baritone voice that she can't reach. People would laugh at her or avoid her. She was an outsider as well- but by choice. That used to baffle me... it didn't seem normal..."

In my mind's eye... I picture this 'Ashen' that Ferroh talks about... she's beautiful, standing atop a steel canteen table from my school. She waves her arms up in the air and flicks her blonde hair with a flashy sort of wink. But it isn't in a pompous, arrogant way... sort of playful... friendly and inviting... like she wants me to get up there with her...

"She didn't have any friends. No, that's wrong... she didn't have anyone _close _with her... everyone liked her, but no one wanted to be too close. Neither did I. Instead I kept my distance, and her antics just became a daily routine... except every now and then she'd catch my eye and grin or smile- like it was a joke between us against everyone else-"

Right now she's listening. All of the Capitol is listening, but Ashen is listening the most. I feel my eyes droop as I try and see her watching. She's... she's happy, as well as sad. I don't know if she's crying. Perhaps she's just happy to see Ferroh alive and well...

"Then one day she was messing around at the pool outside of the school grounds. I was passing by and I saw her there- swaying on side... when some guys came along and, they probably didn't mean to, knocked her in as they ran past..."

...there's an arm around me... I'm vaguely aware of this... all of Ferroh's year must be listening right now... listening to his story of his friend...

"I can't really remember what happened... I guess it was instinct. She couldn't swim after all, apparently. So I was soaked and she was coughing up pool water... when she started crying and laughing at the same time. I was a little scared, I mean, I didn't know how to deal with a crying girl... why was she crying? So I asked her to please stop crying." Ferroh's voice drops into a murmur. A pleasant murmur. "That's when she said that no '_real_ gentleman' would say 'stop crying' to a crying damsel- and declared that I 'sucked' as a hero... I must've blacked out from surprise because she kept laughing at me after that... I must've run off again thinking she hated me-"

Sleepy. Everything terrifying fades away with the sinking sun as Ferroh... Ferroh finishes the story of Ashen...

"...but the next day she was waiting on top of the school gate. She dropped down on top of me and said that I was meant to catch her. 'You're a horrible hero Ferroh-roh' she said... and then... I think that's how we became friends... Ashen and me..."

...as his story fades away... I can see her... the smiling, energetic girl... balling up her hands into tight fists as she tries hard... really, _really _hard... not to cry... not to cry...

...don't cry Ashen... you sound so pretty when you smile...

...tears begin to form in the corners of my eyes...

...I'd like to see that smile...

* * *

_Francesca Bardot; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 3._

Thank heavens we brought that full bottle of water with us! While we don't have any weapons or food or... well, anything else- there's at least some satisfaction in having a big tank of water to lug around with us- right?

Okay, so it's heavy and takes some effort to drag since both Holland and I are exhausted, but to complain about it would be pointless- as well as ungrateful. Somewhere out there, some of the others are thirsting and starving away. Some may already be on the verge of death. I definitely won't be so spoiled as to pretend that I'm suffering the most!

"Holland? I think it'd be okay if you take a sip now."

He's such a trooper, because even as I offer him the unopened bottle he shakes his head and continues to pant and stagger on. Holland is almost _determined _not to drink any until he absolutely has to- but he's starting to look more than flushed. If he doesn't reach for it in the next five minutes- I'm just gonna shove the mouth of it down his throat until he swallows some.

Still, until then I fill the silence with quiet, cheerful musings. "This forest sure goes on forever. I'm a little nervous what might be outside it."

"Y-Yeah." Holland wheezes. He looks up at the trees that tower stories above us. "Although... it may just be me... but these trees just keep getting b-bigger and bigger..."

Now that he mentions it, they _are_. When we had squirmed out of that dome and into the surrounding forests, I had been stunned by how thick and burly the trees had been. They had been as tall as my house. Now they're reaching the height of Capitol skyscrapers- and I hadn't noticed because of my eyes on the tangled forest ahead.

There isn't exactly a path to follow. We're stepping over roots and shrubs and getting tangled up in thorny bushes every so often because of a lack of space to place our feet. And as the trees get thicker- there's less and less room to move...

"You know Holland; I don't think there is an outside to these trees." I pucker up my lips a little as I think. "I think they're just going to get fatter and fatter until they create a huge wall of tree trunks."

Thinking on this amazes my friend for a moment as he no doubt tries to picture the impenetrable wall of trees that make up the arena's edge. Finally he sticks out his hand and takes the bottle of water- _finally _breaking the cap's seal and taking a deep swig. I smile, relieved.

"Haa-" Holland comes up gasping, satisfied from the drink. "What should we do then? Just keep walking until we're squeezing through the gaps between trees?"

This makes me think. "Mmm... no... unless..."

I consider camping in a tiny pocket of space between these huge trees. At first it seems like a great idea- one that no one else has probably thought of- until I remember what Gamemakers do to people who strike up a brilliant camp-site in the Hunger Games.

Disaster-ize it.

With the image of forest fires and collapsing tree trunks falling down upon us, I quickly shake my head. "No, that's a bad idea. We need somewhere... more open."

Something in Holland's face tells me that he's not thrilled with that idea, but he's not about to go suggesting otherwise. I'm a little glad he's like that- some people might be angry that he's a bit of a pushover- but the lack of conflict makes things easier on the both of us.  
Besides, I'm not so stupid that I'm going to make us sleep outside the group of 'Capitol-careers' campsite. Holland knows that, I'm sure.

"Chess... I have a question."

"What is it Holly?"

At the sound of his nickname Holland winces, but manages to mumble out-

"...how are we _really_ going to survive this?"

Stopping dead in my tracks- I look over at him. The surprisingly dark look of hopelessness I find there upsets me more than all that thinking of burning alive.  
I know it seems hard to believe we can live through this- but I'm doing it, so why can't he?

Doing my best to keep my face straight, I answer as honestly as I can. "I don't now Holland. We might not."

Judging from his expression, he wasn't expecting me to be so blunt about it. That cheers me up a little and I can't help but smile softly at the corners of my mouth as I reach over to him and pat his shoulder reassuringly.  
We're friends. Friends don't lie to one another, and that's one thing I'm sure of. That's how I know we can trust one another.

"-but there's also a chance we will." I tilt my head, smiling even though my friend looks like he's on the verge of a breakdown. "You have to keep believing in it though Holland. Because if we don't-"

I take a huge breath in. Only when I open my mouth and yell through the forest does Holland give a shout of panic-

"-HOW COULD ANYONE ELSE?"

"Ch-Chess- shut up! What if someone hears you-!"

His hand pressed up against my mouth- I grin stupidly as he retracts his hand hurriedly, which is now coated with a thin layer of saliva from my mouth. As the boy flusters over what's just happened- I drop my voice to a whisper and signal to the canopy above.

"I want the sponsors to hear me Holly," I grab onto him with both shoulders and shake him playfully. "Because we're going to need them just as much as we need each other. So believe in me! Believe in you! And then _they'll _believe in us and we'll make it out of this place- okay?"

In his head I know he's panicking. Working against his better judgement are hundreds of little voices telling him that there's no escape from here; that his grave will be in this forest of giants with me.

But as that shaky smile breaks out- I feel a wave of relief sweep over the pair of us.

We still have hope.

And as long as we have that, we can never lose.

* * *

_Marshall Matthews; 14 years; the Capitol Sector 2._

We could barely believe our luck when we found out what those heavy duffel bags held. The three of us opened them up at the same time after we had covered enough distance so that Natalia and her crew wouldn't be all up on us within an hour. What we found made all of us _immensely _happy.

"Well I've hit the jackpot," I snicker, pulling out the pre-camouflaged tent and reflective sleeping bag. "Tent, sleeping bag, bandages, full tank of water, two loaves of bread, bottle of pills, iodine... heh-"

I pull out the night-vision glasses. Without a doubt, these packs were intended for the career pack. I slip them on and flash Diego a thumbs up, even though the sun hasn't fully disappeared from the sky. The giant smiles and folds his neatly atop his sleeping bag that was stashed inside his bag.

"I have rubbing alcohol," Montserrat lifts up the bottle that's barely bigger than a hip-flask. "I don't think every bag holds the same stuff. Any of you have anything different to what I have?"

Somehow, we three have decided to trust one another fully. I can't explain why, but when I look at these two I know that I won't be getting a knife in the back anytime down the road. That's why when we all lay out our bounty for each other to sort through- there's no worry about having things pilfered from one another.

"Marshall has a bottle of pills that isn't in any of the other bags," Diego says, placing the pills in the middle of our stockpiles. "Montserrat has rubbing alcohol. The bag I carry has a fishing net, and the extra bag has a set of medical needles and thread."

"So they don't give everyone the same supplies?" Montserrat stares down at the smaller stockpile of items. "I'd have thought they'd all be the same."

"-apparently not." I scratch my neck, glancing over at my knuckle dusters that lay beside Diego's heavy lance. "I thought there'd be some weapons."

Montserrat's face falls. "I was hoping there would be. I didn't pick any up when we were running for it."

Yeah, I recognised that while we were running. Luckily Montserrat's reflexes are good or else he might have been decked by Vinel back there. Haha, instead he made it so Vinel might never be able to function properly as a man again!  
Okay, it isn't funny to think about- being a dude and being able to understand that pain after all- but the guy was asking for it. Sadly, when one is a guy- that's where most people will aim.

If anyone kicks me there I'll probably crumple like a wet paper towel too.

Diego's voice interrupts. "I believe I know what these pills are."

Both Montserrat and I turn to Diego- who is holding up the bottle of pills from my pack. A little hesitantly, he lowers them and looks at us with a fairly serious expression- but doesn't say anything. Montserrat gives him the signal to continue and Diego places the bottle in the middle of us all before saying blankly-

"It is amphetamine."

It takes a few minutes for either of us to respond to that. I blink a few times as Monty's mouth opens and closes wordlessly, wondering if that means what we think it means.

"...uh_... what_?"

For some reason Diego doesn't seem at all bothered by what he's just discovered. Instead he repeats what he said and just waits for either Montserrat or I to react to that.  
We don't. I'm too stunned to be within four metres of the stuff, and Montserrat looks like he's just had a heart attack. The big guy of our group finally realises our astonishment and asks what's wrong.

"What's wrong? We... we have _drugs_?" I don't know whether to burst into laughter or go into a panic. "I've never seen _these_ in the Games before. Why would they give us _speed_?"

"It is a performance enhancing-" Diego begins.

Montserrat interrupts his friend, shaking his head desperately. "Guys, we shouldn't take those. I've had some idiot friends who did, and all it did was mess them up. The side-effects can include hallucinations- and that's if it doesn't make your heart stop entirely."

"That is true, especially if one does not have an already healthy mind and body." Diego picks up the bottle and, to my surprise, hands it to me. "It was in your pack Marshall. It is up to you to get rid of them or keep them."

Without a second's hesitation I hurl the bottle away from us, causing Monty to laugh weakly. It lands somewhere close by, but I don't bother to see where it stops rattling. Performance enhancer or not- I'd rather not risk hallucinations and possible heart-attacks, thanks. Maybe another day, should I survive this and still feel like taking stupid risks.

With that out of the way, the bags are repacked- with the exception of the fourth, which we fold up and have shoved deep inside Diego's pack- we continue on our way. We hope to find a good spot to camp before night falls and the anthem plays. Diego claims that the further down the ground slopes, the moister it's become and the closer to water we're getting- and seeing as he's the only one who read those musty old survival books in the training room I'm inclined to believe him.

"We will not set up camp at the water source, just near enough so it is available." Says Diego. "There are bound to be others who will camp near as well. Plus the native wildlife."

This surprises me. "Wildlife?" I ask, raising a brow. "I haven't seen anything."

To answer me, Diego stops us in our tracks then points to a tree slightly ahead of us. Squinting, I can see at about his shoulder height there are some unusual scratch marks that- now that they've been pointed out- can't be missed. I almost feel stupid for missing them.

Well, stupid as well as terrified.

Bear marks.

"That's not good." Is all I manage to get out.

Diego nods. "Exactly. It is not good."

I'd laugh if I wasn't horrified on the inside. Wild dogs or snakes can be dealt with- but a bear? The only time I've seen one of those killed by a tribute in the Games was... well, never. They were always called off by the Gamemakers themselves. It was always sort of a tool used purely for massacring a handful of kids. Bears.

"Plan of action?" I ask weakly, still smiling awkwardly.

"Against a bear?" Even Diego, king of seriousness, looks at me incredulously. "To not run across one."

There's a very definite pause where we all imagine the worst case scenario. Surely I'm not the only one imagining myself running and screaming and wetting my pants as a colossal mass of teeth and claws comes charging after me at forty miles per hour.

Montserrat openly groans. "And if we do run across one?"

An awkward silence answers the question before Diego sighs-

"Play dead."

I think it's more than safe to say that all three of us pray that if we are going to die in this arena- that it's not at the razor-sharp claws of a nine-hundred pound hunk of ravenous _bear_. Or at least something that doesn't depend on our acting skills to keep us alive.

The horrifying thing is... we don't exactly have a choice in the matter. Unless you count suicide... which I don't. This same thought seems to occur to my two friends, who look at one another- then to me- as I smile awkwardly and let out a groan.

"This is going to _suck_."

* * *

**Capitol Question #017; which tributes would you like to see kiss (but most likely won't)?**


	43. Struggle through the Night

**A Vivid Note: **Ah, the sweet satisfaction of writing chapters in the arena. I'm loving this if you can't tell. Loving it _hard_ and _fast_.

Ah, and in response to a suggestion to write up the remaining characters each chapter- I'm well aware that this is something most Hunger Games authors do. _However _doing that might mess up a few tricks and twists I have planned, so forgive me for not making things easier for you.

Not overly pleased with some of this chapter, it took me ages to write and feels patchy to me. Hopefully I'll do better in 44. Hopefully, you might be able to enjoy it. _Might_.

**Capitol Question #018; if **_**you**_** were in this arena, which way would you head from the cornucopia?**

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Ari Saint-Claire; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 5._

I've suffered disappointments before, but never one that resulted in _dehydration_. When Laco and I stumbled upon the golden lake, my stomach felt like it fell straight through my bowels.

It's obviously a trap. Nothing is ever altered just for the sake of appearances. That's why Laco and I walked around the edge of the lake before venturing a little further into the forest to set up our camp for the evening.  
Nothing could be said to lighten our mood. The Gamemakers had dangled a prize in front of us and then gleefully poisoned it. Just the thought of that sneering blue haired witch makes me want to smash something.

"-there are streams leading to the lake. We can follow one tomorrow and see if it leads to clean water."

How Laco isn't suffering the same frustration I am eludes me. We're both thirsty and hungry- obviously tired from our day of stumbling through that bizarre forest- and we both took it hard when we saw that the lake wasn't fit for drinking. Yet he can sit leaned up against that tree, staring up at the steadily darkening sky as if nothing was wrong.

-And he's even worse off than I am, with his hands blotched red from all the scratches and holes those damn thorns gave him when he helped us escape. While I had wanted to help him, Laco refused to let me touch the vines. He made me stand guard with this almost laughable slingshot while he grabbed fistfuls of the jagged wall and ripped us an opening to escape through.

I can't help but worry about him now. Laco had made it clear that he was fighting to keep me safe but... I didn't realise just how serious he was about that resolution. After seeing that display though... it's clear that he wasn't just saying that.

_"I'll make Ari Saint-Claire win these games-!"_

Although it was days ago, that was the first time I'd realised his 'agenda' that he wouldn't tell me on the chariots. For one reason or another, Laco Sykora has decided that he wholeheartedly wants me to win these games. Right from the beginning when he reached out his hand and took mine on reaping day- he had decided to help me to the victor's throne.

For all his 'we're in this Game together' talks, we both know that's a lie. There have been hints all over the place during the short time we've been together. When I told him about Namer and I was crying... I still heard him say 'I won't... not yet...' when I begged him not to be taken away like the only other male I had depended on had been, and during the interviews he worded it 'I'll see her to the finish.'

Not 'I'll see these Games to the finish'. Just 'her'.

Just _me_.

...as much as I want to think this has changed since our... 'intimate moment' last night... I don't think it has at all. The moment Laco's hands began pulling open a hole in the rose dome- I knew he hadn't abandoned his goal of seeing me through to the finish.  
Even if I were to tell him that's not what I wanted... I don't think even my pleading would make him change that determination of his...

Without warning, something silver catches my eye- and I let out a slight shriek of alarm before diving away from it. Suddenly alert Laco grabs me and pulls me back into the tree as the culprit- the sparkling silver parachute of a sponsor item- gently floats down upon where I was sitting.

Exchanging excited glances, I scramble forwards and snare the parachute- dragging the flat, transparent plastic bottle along behind it. As I pull off the parachute- Laco leans in close as I unscrew the cap and gingerly smell its contents- recoiling from the harsh stink of disinfectant.

-disinfectant!

"They sent something for your hands!" I cry excitedly in a whisper. "This is fantastic Laco!"

Laco suddenly looks dejected. "I'd have preferred something to drink, but I guess this'll do."

"Hush- they'll think you're ungrateful!" I punch him lightly in the arm, and then look up at the canopy- unsure of where the cameras might be. "Thank you sponsors~!"

Working quickly, I upturn the bottle onto the sleeve of my hooded jacket- to serve as the applicator- and then reach out for Laco's reddened hands. Still looking slightly annoyed, but obviously relieved that someone took pity on him, he holds them out for me to treat.

This means that he was wrong. We're _not _alone in this. Perhaps Vernon cares more than he let on during our time together. I'm unable to stop smiling as I dab the worse areas of the wincing boy's hands, thinking of the faces of who might actually want Laco and I out of here more than the others who remain in this arena.

Technically this gift is meant for Laco. However, he's clearly my lifeline in this in the audience's eyes, so helping him is also aiding me. I can't help but feel happy in that.

"...what are you so happy about...?"

His sour eyes have changed into a weak sort of gleam. His cringing at the disinfectant's sting has long stopped, and now all there is left is my gentle stroking of his injured hands- and a very sudden closeness between our faces that I hadn't noticed until now. Biting my lip to keep from smiling, I try to focus on his hands as I reply quickly-

"Nothing, I'm just glad that we're alive. Really glad."

I can feel the warmth from his breath on my face. I've never realised how much taller he was than me, even though he's slumped against the tree and I'm bent over his hands... my forehead almost bumps into his nose as I try to steal a glance of his tired expression.

A look of relief spreads across his features. "...I'm really glad too... so glad..."

Fingers twitch beneath the sleeve of my jacket, and Laco twists his palms upwards and takes hold of my hands in his. Strength evaporates rapidly from me as I realise for the second time in twenty-four hours how close those lips are to mine.

Eyes finding one another, I allow the capped bottle to slide from my lap and softly fall to the ground as Laco lifts a hand to my chin and gently tilts my head upwards. Those smiling eyes wash away my fears of dying.

"...I'll always be happy as long as you continue to live."

...

But hearing those words... makes my heart sink to the bottom of my ribcage...

* * *

_Brandit Gailer; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 6._

The sound of the anthem orchestrating through the air startled us all so much that Cotton almost cried out in alarm. Natalia however was right on task- sprinting to the outside of the dome and bending her neck backwards to make sure of the dead. I follow her example, stepping carefully through the sharp brambles- vaguely aware that only Jasse is following me as Vinel and Cotton stay back in the cornucopia.

Tonight's sky is a deep blue, speckled with stars shining so bright I can barely recognise them as real. The Capitol's emblem overwhelms the night sky before the orchestra fades away and the faces of the dead reappear.

Both the tributes from Sector 1 flare up the sky. Liotta's innocent face disappears as the boy I had beheaded takes her place. My throat closes up a little to see him staring calmly down at me, undoubtedly for what will be the last time.  
It's impossible to look at someone the same after you've seen them alive and in person. Every year we would watch people die in the safety of our homes. This time it's so different to see only their faces in the sky, and not an entire recap of their final moments.

Then again... it's also hard to look at someone the same after you've seen the strands of flesh dangling from their neck, no longer connected to their shoulders...

Galaxy Jones from 7, the girl who jumped, is next. We know there are only two more tributes to appear after her- and we know exactly who they are- but as Jasse's Sector partner takes her place amongst the stars- he lets out a tiny hum of discomfort.  
While Natalia chooses to ignore it- I reach over and give his shoulder a small squeeze. Jasse looks at my hand glumly, but nods in return and accepts my sympathy.

I know how he's feeling. While I'm sure a few people couldn't care less if their Sector partner lived or died- like Natalia and Marshall- most of us can't help but care about the only other person who shares our home. Even now I think now and again of Faye-Anna and how she's faring out there in that wilderness, wondering if our paths will cross before the end of these Games.

Once Sapphire's face and the number 12 melt into the Capitol sea and the anthem picks up again- the three of us turn around and head back towards the cornucopia where Vinel and Cotton sit, not talking.

"Anything out of the ordinary?" Vinel asks blandly, not bothering to look up as we approach.

Natalia folds her arms. "No, everyone we thought was dead is dead. No surprises."

Earlier on we had discussed the possibilities of Liotta or Sapphire's corpses being faked, despite the fact that they looked pretty dead when we found them against the edge of the dome. But since we hadn't taken the time to see them disappear up into the hovercrafts- Natalia kept entertaining the idea that one of them had scurried away and that someone else was dead instead.

It's obvious now that she was just being paranoid... or hopeful. I know how much she wishes someone else's face was up in the sky tonight. I know that Marshall, Ari and Julian are her top contenders for a merciless death- but who knows, there might be others I'm not sure of.

"Are we really going _hunting _for tributes?" Cotton pipes up suddenly, staring at Natalia with narrowed eyes. "I mean, it's the first night. I think we should leave it for a day- because of the bloodbath and all."

Almost immediately I can sense that this was a poor move on Cotton's part. Natalia looks almost livid as she stares down at the younger girl, a horrible smile curling across her face out of frustration.

"I'm sorry Cotton, I may be mistaken but I'm _positive _that the time for objections was earlier." Her voice is absolutely poisonous as she continues to glower. "Not to mention the fact that I created this group with being 'careers' in mind. Careers never_ leave it for a day._"

Her anger clearly makes Cotton hesitant to speak again. The girl from 11 looks over at Vinel- perhaps expecting some words to back her up- but the guy doesn't say anything. Instead he turns away and stares at the edge of the dome, plainly avoiding confrontation.

"Of course Cotton, if you feel that you're not '_up to it_', you can just stay back here and guard the supplies!" Natalia's eyes almost bulge with glee. "I don't think you'd be much help out there tonight anyway, and you are clearly the weakest of this group. So staying here would be best. Anyone disagree?" She adds, looking around at us boys.

Jasse is obviously preoccupied with other thoughts, so he shakes his head. I don't feel like having Natalia face me with that indignant stare so I follow suit with a shrug. That leaves Cotton staring desperately at Vinel for some kind of rebuttal- but he shakes his head as well.

Cotton's hopeless face only widens Natalia's smile. "Then it's settled! Okay, let's pack some things and move out in ten minutes. Those tributes have probably covered a lot of ground today and we've only got while they're resting to find them. Move it!"

As bossy as our self-proclaimed leader can be- no one can deny that Natalia is probably the only one out of the five of us who knows what they're doing. It wouldn't surprise me at all if in a past life Natalia had once been the sort of general who would do all it took to get her and the majority of her men back home.

Though thinking of that only makes me wonder what I could've possibly done in a past existence to have ended up here in this arena as 'Brandit Gailer'.

I don't waste time in packing up one of the smaller blue backpacks with emergency supplies should I get lost or separated from the group. There's no reason to pack too much, but I stow a loaf of bread, a smaller canister of water and some bandages inside. I also decide that bringing the claymore would be a stupid move, as the sword is so large that it'd just weight me down in the long run.

It can stay here with Cotton, along with any other weapons Vinel, Jasse and Natalia decide not to take. Instead I pick up a lighter short-sword and slide it into my belt, taking special care not to nick or cut the leather in the process.

"-_why didn't you stick up for me?_"

Furious whispers. I glance sideways at Natalia- but she's around the side of the cornucopia examining blades. Several feet behind me I hear as Cotton cries under her breath-

"_You should've stuck up for me. I didn't tell them about you giving that bow-_"

Vinel answers the girl in a cold growl.

"_Okay Cotton. Go tell them. Go and tell them if it bothers you so much. What, you don't trust me because of that? She's my Sector partner- I didn't want to watch her die-"_

"_-i-is that the only reason-?_"

The way her voice almost breaks at its peak tells me that Cotton is close to crying. However there's only silence- and I assume that they've decided to drop their conversation lest someone like me be listening.

Bringing me back to this moment is the sound of Natalia's footsteps behind me.

"Ready, Brandit?"

No. I'm not ready. I wasn't ready when I volunteered for all this. But I still turn and stare Natalia dead in the face, nodding stiffly.

"Ready."

* * *

_Montserrat Saint-Phillipe; 18 years; the Capitol Sector 9._

We all quickly learn that sleeping is quite impossible. It's not that the ground is uncomfortable or our sleeping bags render us cold- but the constant fear of being leapt upon by bears or something equally nasty keeps us from resting soundly. Even with Diego volunteering to keep watch, Marshall and I can't help but stay seated upright.

"I'd feel safer if we could get a bit further off the ground." Marshall mutters with a sigh. "Sleeping on the ground makes me feel like we're open to any attack thrown at us..."

Diego- leaned up against the trunk of the enormous tree- murmurs quietly. "It would be impossible to climb these trees without a harness of sorts due to their girth, and even that would be impractical. The highest points of the arena were the rocks above the rose dome, and even those would not be safe."

Ah, the rocks. I remember them, all tangled up in thorny rose vines. When we had made our daring escape from the bloodbath Marshall had pointed them out only for Diego to dismiss the idea. 'It's too dangerous,' I think he had said. 'There will be an obstacle up there, as well as a necessity for oxygen tanks. We'll do better in the forest.'

So into the forest we went, and here we are now. I can't help but wonder if someone, that girl who climbed out before us perhaps, has climbed up into the clouds on those rocks yet. And if so, I wonder what they found up there?

"Alright, so there's really nowhere safe in this place," says Marshall, smiling weakly in the darkness. "I'll just have to toughen up and get over it. It's not like everything in here is designed to kill us... I think."

...okay Monty; let's not dwell on that thought for too long.

"There are a few things we can be certain of," Diego begins sternly. "One, the water in the lake is not fit to drink. Two, there are bears nearby. This in turn means that there is an alternate water source _elsewhere_."

I had guessed the first two on my own, when the three of us stumbled across the lake an hour ago. The moment we saw its glittering golden surface- we all groaned. While it might not have been liquid gold, it might have well have been. It was no more drinkable than gold, especially because Diego extensively pointed out that there were no visible animal tracks leading to the lake- nor were there any signs of life _inside _it- therefore-

"_It is poisonous._"

What a letdown that was to find. However Diego is clearly the smart one of the group, because discovering that the lake was poisonous didn't seem to slow him down one bit. Instead he reminded us of the existence of the animals- thereby proving there's another source of water in this arena, and that we have about three days worth of water to sustain us until we can find it.

Maybe that's why he didn't want to go climbing up those rock formations. It's hardly likely the water source would be up there- not when there are so many bears clawing the hell out of the trees down here.

"-do not worry too much Marshall. If each of us stand guard for three hours and then rotate, we will each have six hours sleep. With the camouflaged tents and someone standing watch, the only thing we will need to be concerned with will be the... wildlife."

Bears. He doesn't mean wildlife, he just means _bears_. Although we haven't seen any- all three of us are convinced they're out here. A pack of wolves or something else nasty with teeth wouldn't be a problem. The only reason we're feeling wary is because of those great lumbering creatures we all know Gamemakers adore.

There has been an increase of bears in the Games recently. The old favourite used to be wild dogs and variations of canines- but the last Head Gamemaker must have realised that dog mutts were quickly becoming a source of food and not of terror and switched them with bigger creatures. Elephants, rhinos and all sorts of rare leathery beasts.

At least with those creatures you could climb a tree and be safe. All climbing a tree would do against a bear is leave you with nowhere to go but up- which the bear could easily follow.

If I am destined to die in this place, I don't want it to be in a way that'd scar my family more than it has to. I'd rather starve to death, or die from a sword to the gut. Not be torn into pieces by a great mammoth of a beast.

Watching that would probably render them catatonic for life.

As Diego suggested, Marshall and I settle down for our three and six hours sleep, Marshall being the six and me being the three. Since he's the youngest it's sort of decided he should be allowed to sleep the longest before waking. Perhaps he realises this because the boy doesn't look at all happy with the decision.

...It's... _hard _to sleep. While it's surprisingly comfortable in this make-shift tent disguised as tree bark, I can't help but worry for Diego who stands outside on guard. There's some steady breathing from where Marshall lies next to me, and I guess he's already succumbed to exhaustion. I however lie awake, tired but not sleepy, with one hand on my stomach and the other on one of Marshall's knuckle dusters.

At this moment, someone is awake at home and watching the television in case there are any signs of my death. The camera can't see into the insides of the tent, so even if there is footage of me right now, they can't see my face.  
I wonder what they think of Diego and Marshall... if they believe I've made the right choice allying myself with them.

I think I have. No, I know I have. There's no treachery in these two, I'm sure. I trust them far more than I would've Natalia or her crew. That being said, I also know that they trust me to keep them safe too.

...speaking of... I roll over slightly, resting my head on top of my hands... they're probably on the move now, those 'careers'... maybe they'll be here by tomorrow morning... when it's Marshall's turn to stand watch...

...

For some reason... I decide that I won't wake up Marshall when it's his turn to stand watch... I'll just take his shift instead... Were Natalia to see him standing against a tree, she'd try to kill him for sure. If I were to take his place... perhaps those two would have a better chance to escape.

All I want to do right now is keep them safe.

...that's all that matters to me right now.

* * *

_Cotton Ferier; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 11._

This is an absolute nightmare. In one day I've watched two girls explode, seen someone _behead a guy_- and had the guy I like rescue another girl right in front of my face before being dubbed 'the weakest' of this stupid group of phony careers. It's so hard not to scream and kick into the side of the cornucopia for some sort of release.

-I could kill someone. I don't want to, but with this rage behind me I know I could do it. Earlier with Jason- that was just my nerves in the way. I could do it now. With this contempt for Natalia fuelling me- I could do anything.

...I... I just want to hurt her, for everything she's done; making me feel like I'm two inches tall while she strides around as if she's already won these Games. Well, if I have any say in it- Natalia will _certainly _not win. Even if I have to curse her with my dying breath, I wouldn't be able to bear seeing her sit on that throne with the victor's crown perched on her head.

She has a mother waiting for her at home. 'Big deal!' I want to snort. We all have mothers- but some of us have more than that. I have sisters that need their sister to come home and make up for neglecting them for so long. Cotton Ferier has a family waiting for her to step back onto the front stoop and knock on the door- returning them all from this- this _nightmare_.

There's no way I'll let Natalia win. Screwing my face up in anger, I grab at a clump of grass and throw it at arm's length. There's no wind, so it just falls pointlessly against my boots. My anger melts away into pointlessness and I slump against my knees, watching the pitch-black of the rose dome around me.

Staying back is just as terrifying as venturing out into the dark of the woods would've been. At least then I'd have the company of the others to keep me feeling at least a little safe. Here I feel... sort of out in the open.  
In other Games the non-career tributes always return to the cornucopia in order to swipe away the career's supplies. No doubt it'll happen again this time, even though most of the stuff has been plucked up by Natalia and a few other tributes. Those three boys she hates so much got away with a load of bags. I didn't see it, but I wonder what her expression was like...

Just once I want to see her hurt or upset... not angry- but actually helpless and pitiful, like the way she's made me feel... just_ once_ I'd like to see-

Without warning- a cannon suddenly booms and I freeze in horror.

Someone's died. My breathing becomes shallow as I whirl around, half expecting a scene to unfold around me, but all there is surrounding me is darkness. Frantically searching in my supplies- I pull out the night vision glasses and ram them over my ears as I scramble backwards into the cornucopia for safety.

Who just died? I sink my teeth into my thumb to keep from panicking. Did a tribute just get killed by Natalia and the others- or was it one of us? Have the Gamemakers gotten bored and unleashed some sort of monstrous muttation upon us-?

_CLANG._

"AH-!"

Without thinking I throw myself to the ground as something slams into the top of the cornucopia. Choking on the dirt and begging myself not to scream or cry- I lie and wait for whatever has just sky dived upon me to make a sound. There's a slow screech of something heavy steadily sliding- until there's a flump and whatever it was hits the ground and lays there in silence.

Minutes pass. Blood crawls down the skin of my hand from where I bit into my thumb in terror. Something hard and metal is digging into my stomach, but I'm too scared to risk moving. While I can't hear anything from whatever is beside the cornucopia- that doesn't mean it's not a trap. I can't be stupid about this.

...how... how long will it be until someone comes back for me? Shouldn't... shouldn't they be worried about me after hearing that cannon? My heart beats hard in my chest as I think I hear the thing move- but it's just my head pounding. Not unless they were the ones who caused the cannon to go off... or they're too far away... to get back quickly...

I can feel a handle of something touching the heel of my palm. Slowly, I shift my hand over it and grip the weapon tightly. One of the swords left behind for me to use. I had knocked it over in my panic. Still holding my breath, I slowly and carefully rise to my feet- and begin to scuttle out of the cornucopia's mouth, preparing myself for whatever might be lying in wait for me there.

Silently I edge around the cornucopia. The brightness of the moon beams down upon me, and the glasses become useless. Just as I carefully slide them from my nose, I see the arm.

For a moment I just stare at it, unable to comprehend it. While I can recognise the forms of three fingers, there are so many holes in its palm; scratches and scuff marks destroying the skin. The tattered sleeve of the regulation tribute jacket lays perfectly still, as the rest of the body remains hidden behind the cornucopia.

'Do I...' my eyes close and reopen as I think about what I should do next... '-really want to see this...?'

No. I don't want to see... but I have to... I have to know who fell from above, or it'll torture me until someone else comes back... and if I can't even determine who has died... then I'll never be able to kill someone... even to save my life...

Stepping cautiously, I creep closer to the arm- half expecting it to spring to life and grab for my ankle. But as I open my eyes wider and see the disfigured corpse under the light of the moon, all delusions of it being alive vanish in a sudden surge of sickness.

"Oh... oh my god...!"

Britney's chest is covered in blood. Her torso is punctured with a huge hole- as if someone with a machine drill shoved it into her chest cavity and set it to full power. Blood is continuing to gradually seep out of her- and I can see a sickening smear of the stuff along the side of the cornucopia. Her eyes are clenched tightly shut and her expression is still one of intense agony.  
Now that I can see her in full light, I can see that she's for horrible wear. Two fingers are missing from the hand I saw, and the other arm is half as long as it should be... long tendrils of flesh spanning out where her lower arm should be...

...and her head... from the fall it... it's dented... but the impact couldn't have killed her... not when the cannon boomed so much earlier...

"...oh god... oh god..."

I look up from where this girl from 9 had fallen, and then back down to her mangled body. Whoever or whatever had killed her is still up there, hiding upon those rock formations she had hidden away on.

...but what... what on Earth could've done this...?

* * *

_Vinel Greggorus; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 4._

"That was a _cannon _just now- someone might have killed Cotton-!"

"Then what's the point of going back for her _corpse_? Just keep going Vinel."

Natalia doesn't even bother to look at me as she says this, she just continues to stare around wildly through her night-vision glasses as if I were a pesky bug that won't stop bouncing off the back of her head. I grit my teeth and try to bear this, but my thoughts keep turning back to Cotton and whether she's safe or not.

We didn't have the best day today. In fact, I might have given her cause to kill me sooner than the others- but I don't care about that right now. Regardless of whether or not I'm 'in love' with her, I'd get no pleasure from having her die.

"There are markings on the trees here," Jasse's mutters quietly. "Reckon someone came by this way?"

The four of us stop and glance at the tree he's looking at. While the night-vision glasses do show things in a better light than pure darkness does, I can't really see what he's talking about. Natalia and Brandit both kneel by the tree's roots and run their hands over its bark, before sharing a glance and then turning back to us.

"Definitely something there. Feels fresh... I think..." Natalia bites her lip and I stare at her darkly.

I stare at her with a raised eyebrow, unable to hold in my urge to mock her. "You _think_? Wow, you _sure_ know what you're doing."

This strikes a nerve. Immediately Natalia whips around and has her hand poised to grab for my collar- causing me to freeze in surprise- but only to be stopped inches from my face by Brandit grabbing onto her shoulder and furiously shaking his head. Clearly angry, Natalia turns away from me and begins to mutter darkly to Brandit with words I can't quite hear.

"...I get the feeling that she doesn't really like us."

While Natalia's back is turned, Jasse has decided to speak with me. I don't really know why, since we haven't even shared two words before now, but it's not like I have any reason to dislike him- so I just shrug and nod in response.

"Well I can't say I'm too fond of her either, but allies are allies."

Jasse doesn't say anything to this, but he does give me a long hard stare. It's almost as if he's sizing me up in his head. I take the time to finally size this kid up as well, since he's been part of our alliance and I've barely spared him a moment's thought.  
He's shorter than I am, average height for his age I guess. The small afro he had is long shaved off now, and all there is now are a few spare blonde curls. I can't help but notice how blindingly- and obviously bleached- white he is.

I've long stopped sizing this kid up, so the fact that he's still staring intently at me is beginning to weird me out. I laugh weakly and look at him suspiciously.

"...is there something you want?"

For a horrible second I think what I just said could've sounded like a pick-up line, but the boy from 10 shakes his head, glances over at Natalia and says-

"I uh, got to go take... take care of business. You know?" I try not to laugh as Jasse looks awkward as all hell. I think all of Panem knows what he means. "So uh, I'll catch up with you guys."

"Fine." I wave him off then look at Natalia. "Jasse's taking care of 'business'. Alright?"

Unsurprisingly, our leader doesn't look 'alright' with this at all- but I think it's Brandit nodding beside her that makes her shrug and allow Jasse go take his leak behind one of these giant trees. She had said something earlier today about 'holding it in until designated rest periods', but no one was listening to her at that point.

-Somehow I highly doubt anyone here has been camping. Most of us aren't 'holding it in' to be safe, we're doing so because none of us want to squat over the forest floor and end up being bitten by something wild.

Personally I'd rather piss my pants than risk that. Forest critters can bite my legs or arms as much as they want- but no way am I giving them clear shot of an area that was created _only to be treated nicely_. Getting kicked in the crotch by that jerk from 9 is more than enough pain for me today.

We track on a little further, but at a slower pace so Jasse will still be able to catch up. None of us talk, so I'm left with my thoughts to keep myself sane. Every so often I think of Cotton back at the camp, waiting for us to return back- no doubt terrified by the cannon that went off. And then every now and again I think of Minerva staring up at me with those alarmed eyes when I let her get away with the bow and arrows...

Pushing the sweat off my forehead and slicking my hair back, I expel a quiet sigh. God I hope she's okay. I really want to be sure that she's not the one who died.

...only problem is... I don't know if I'm thinking more of Cotton or Minerva.

Our silence is broken by an irritated whisper from Natalia. "Jasse's taking a long time for a _leak_."

"He might have lied." Brandit mumbles back, trudging onwards. "Maybe it was the _other_ kind of business."

For the first time ever, I see a hint of femininity in Natalia as she wrinkles of her nose in disgust. "Ah- that's gross Brandit..."

It's too hard not to snicker right now, which only merits me a very frustrated glare from Natalia before she begins to double back a few feet- squinting through her night vision shades for a sign of our missing teammate.  
Honestly I can't say I'm too worried about him. If he ran into trouble he doesn't seem the type to go picking a fight on his own. That's why I'm completely fine with continuing the way we were heading.

"-G-GUYS-!"

-Until that.

Brandit is the first to react. Within seconds he's a yard ahead of us, yelling for Jasse as Natalia leaps into action behind him a few seconds later, bounding over a clump of tree roots that I stumble over in surprise. A sudden and unprecedented fear has struck in the back of my neck, and I'm finding it hard not to turn tail and run in the complete opposite direction of Jasse's scream.

"JASSE!"

I come to a screeching halt behind Natalia- who skids to a stop a few feet from Brandit; staring wildly in the direction he is facing. I too try to catch a glimpse of what trouble Jasse has gotten himself into, wondering if this is all just a false alarm-

But that's before I see the leathery grey hide of the muttation looming over on the terrified Jasse, its hollow eyes gleaming in the darkness. Its shape unmistakably that of a bear, but other than that this thing is a class of its own. No fur- only elongated claws, teeth and veins rising up around its bulging hungry eyes.

"Oh... oh god..."

He had gone further than someone normally would to take care of business. Much further. Jasse had lied. I clench my teeth together with pity for the guy as Natalia, clenching her fists, also comes to realise what had happened.

Jasse had tried to run away from us, to abandon us. To lose us.

And he was found by _that_.

Clouds of mist disappear from its nostrils and into the icy air as saliva drips and dribbles down its great maw of teeth while its claws dig deep into the ground, edging closer and closer towards the petrified guy. Brandit doubles back as Jasse stares desperately towards us, mouthing the words '_help me_' as the lumbering monstrosity lets out an earth-shaking growl.

But no one moves for him. Not when we recognise what he had done. And as we all take a fragile step backwards, he too realises the reality of this moment.

"...oh _shit_."

Even if we wanted to save him, there's no possible way now.

-And the beast lunges for him.

"_RUN FOR IT!_"

* * *

_Holland Wickbird; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 3._

"_RUN FOR IT_!"

Having woken up only seconds ago, this was _really _hard to do with Chess yelping and tugging on my arm. There's the sound of inhuman roars and snarls, and the sound of something big slamming into a tree a few feet away from our camping spot. With our water canteen under one arm and my hand in the other- Chess lunges forwards faster than I can recognise that we're in danger.

"-Th-there's someone there-!"

"Natalia- NATALIA FORGET THEM- RUN-!"

Someone's garbled screams makes my blood run cold as the bear's roars disappear amid a frenzy of gurgles and shrieks. I throw my attention back to our camp and catch sight of a disappearing Natalia- pointing manically at us and screaming as one of her teammates pulls her in the opposite direction of us to get away from the bear while its attention is focused on the poor guy who ran into it.

"Chess-" I wheeze, feet stumbling and slipping against the softened ground. "Ch-Chess they saw us-!"

But Chess doesn't look back at me, only tightening her grip around my wrist. "K-Keep running-!"

The screams of pain are deafening, even with the hairless bear's continued roaring and rampaging. My entire body has gone cold with the sudden fear of this beast. A bear. There's a bear in this arena! Heartbeat ramming against my throat- I have a horrific realisation as we continue fleeing for our lives. If there's one bear _there's going to be more_-!

"CH-CHESS-!"

She keeps running, not looking back at me. Further we run, until the howling and crying grows distant and all we can hear is the pounding and splashing of our feet in the suddenly slippery ground. It's impossible to see in this forest. Occasionally there's a puddle or what looks like a stream- glinting in the fractured moonlight that makes its way to the forest ground- but not enough to keep from ramming and barging into trees.

Yet we don't stop for anything. Bile is pushing its way into my throat and my sides feel as if they're being torn at the ribs, but I don't dare slower than Chess. She's the one leading us, and I don't want to be a burden to her. I'll run until she feels safe. No matter how far that might be.

Just as I think this, my body lurches as the vomit fills my mouth and chokes out before I can even register what's happening.

This makes Francesca stop and stare wildly at me as I double over in pain, hurling up my empty stomach's bile. Since it's dark, I don't know if I miss her or not- but I can feel the revolting warmth sliding down my face as I heave and gasp for air.

"Holland- are you okay?" Frantic, Chess doesn't care about the vomit as she tries to lift my head up and help me breathe. "J-Just let it all out. We can take a thirty second break-"

Thirty seconds! The thought of running again makes me want to hurl again, but then I remember why we're running in the first place. It's a bear- a _bear_-! My eyes widen in horror as I recognise that I've just left a trail of vomit for it to find us-!

"I'm s-sorry-!" I cough, squirming in Chess's hands. "I-I might be able to clean it up-"

It's clear that she doesn't understand what I'm saying until I drop to my knees and start smearing at the vomit stained mud with my sleeves, trying to rid the trail of all of it before the time is up. However this just makes her squeak in disgust and grab me again.

"Holland- Holland you don't have to do that! Don't worry about it- it won't come after us- don't put your hands in it-!"

Got to get rid of it- I just _have _to get rid of this-! Why did I throw up? I haven't eaten anything all day! Tears begin to spill down my cheeks as Chess pushes me away from where I knelt- stopping my efforts entirely.  
My body won't stop shaking, from the pain of running, the fear and having just thrown up. I've only thrown up about four times in my life, and two of those times were in the past three days. Now my arms tremble as the sickly warm muck I had tried to mop up soaks through my sleeves.

"-I'm sorry Chess-" I whimper, doing my best not to break into sobs. "I-I'm so sorry-!"

She doesn't say anything. In the darkness, I can't see what her face is showing. Her arms are still gripping my shoulders, but even their strength is beginning to fade away. I feel her there, breathing steadily as she somehow always manages to.

Finally, her voice cracks. "...you... you _idiot_ Holly..."

As I sit there, stunned, she suddenly grabs me and pulls me into her arms. My head is pushed into her chest, and for the first time I hear her heartbeat hammering away, just like mine. Body shaking, she digs her chin into the top of my head and begins to whisper-

"Stop... please stop... stop apologising... stop doubting me... stop doubting yourself..."

Inhaling sharply, I come crashing back to my senses as the delirium of fear is gently washed away by Chess and her gentle words.

"...thank... thank you..."

Somehow, I can tell in the darkness that she's smiling. In my heart I thank whatever force allowed me to be with her, even if it's only in this horrible arena. The girl who holds me so tightly now is the greatest friend I've ever had, and the only reason I can struggle through these Games.

It's not my parents I want to return home for, but Francesca Emmeline von Bardot. And I only want to go home if I can go home with her still grinning beside me.

"_And then they'll believe in us and we'll make it out of this place- okay?"_

The reason I can want this is because... she also said 'we'... not 'I'... not 'you'... but 'we'.

I let my voice mumble into Chess' hooded jacket. "I... I hope someone sponsors us soon..."

A pause of silence, and then she giggles weakly. "I hope they do too... I'm pretty hungry... aren't you?"

Having vomited up an empty stomach's worth of bile, I'm going to say yes.

Doing my best not to sob while I wipe my face of the mess, I laugh pathetically.

"Yeah... I'm starving."

* * *

**Capitol Question #018; if **_**you**_** were in this arena, which way would you head from the cornucopia?**


	44. Take a Few More Steps

**A Vivid Note: **I'm **out recruiting for characters again **for my final two stories of this set, check my profile to see what's available and then send me a private message, I'll give you my personal tribute form and we'll do business.

I am also _painfully _aware how ridiculous it seems to recruit tributes so early. You might cry, 'Fourth and _fifth_ installments? Really Vivid- you're counting your chickens before-!'  
You'd then be interrupted with a pimp-smack to the face whilst the Vivid shouts 'I'm Rick James bitch. Stop crying like kittens and enjoy the immense foreshadowing!'

Yes. This is what you're in for if you throw your lot in with me. Pimp-smacks and awful, _awful_ jokes.

Honest, I'm a lovely person. Just look at how I'm treating these characters.

**Capitol Question #019; could you kill someone if it was to put them out of their misery?**

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Julian Farraday; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 12._

It had been naive of me to believe that the first night would go by quietly. While it had started out peaceful enough, sleeping alone in the roots of one of these giant trees- staring out through a tiny patch in the canopy at the faces of the dead- things went bad at the sound of the cannon.

'Six dead.' I remember thinking while chewing on my tongue. 'Eighteen left.'

Fantastic. If things could only continue at this rate, there'd be a victor within the next three days. Of course, the Games never work that way- and the Gamemakers will give us a few days of 'painful peace' before resorting to offing us themselves.  
I call it 'painful peace' because that's always how the Games I watch go. The only reason they can stretch out to weeks on end is because they play with us rather than force us to kill each other immediately. And by playing I mean they starve, flood, burn or otherwise torment the tributes to the brink of dying- but not outright killing us.

Last year there had been an airborne disease released in the most populated area of the arena that made the tributes sluggish and almost pitiful to watch. It could be cured with rest and water, but since most of them didn't have much of either- they'd die slowly, either on their own or after being found.

Thankfully they won't do that again this year. Gamemakers don't like repeating tricks, at least not two years in a row. Since the Head Gamemaker is that Crane woman, she's probably got something original planned to set her apart from her predecessors.

Suddenly, I'm pining for the airborne disease.

While the sun hasn't even broken the horizon yet, I decide to get moving anyway. I haven't found a source of water yet, and while I'm able to continue without it for now- it won't be long before I'm dragging myself through the dirt panting for it.  
Stuffing my blanket into my backpack, I dust the dirt from my legs and stand tall, squinting in the darkness of the early morning. I vaguely know which way I was heading, so I take care to tread lightly and not create too much noise as I begin the second day.

Before the cannon woke me up, I hadn't exactly been dreaming pleasant dreams. Apparently high levels of stress makes sleeping unsatisfying, just like hang-overs can make waking up hell.  
I had dreamt of the fight my sisters had back when I was reaped, except this time it wasn't as funny. They were shrieking and screaming- clawing at one another's eyes and digging their nails into each other's cheeks. I remember reaching forwards and trying to pry them apart, but my hands held no presence there. It was almost like I was watching as a ghost.

The dream ended with both Katarina and Odette bleeding profusely and me pointlessly grabbing and thrashing about between them. Then the cannon exploded and I just couldn't go back to sleep after that.

Probably best that way. The longer I spend conscious, the better. A good majority of tributes get killed while they're recuperating- and while that'd be a less painful way to go- I'd rather be able to try and run for my life. That's why I won't have a proper night's sleep until I find something safe and sturdy to rest in, like a cave or a clump of bushes.

...and even then it'll be hard to truly relax.

"-he... ha..."

I freeze mid-step. Holding my breath, I wait for whatever just made that noise to sound again. Somewhere nearby, it wheezes in and out, struggling to gasp for air. I don't dare to move, but I consider whispering to confirm that it really is someone there only to immediately reconsider.  
It could be a trap. By answering, I could be walking straight into the hands of a tribute I'd be better off ignoring.

"-ha... hagh..."

Whoever it is, they sure sound convincing. I slowly let my foot touch back down to the ground as the noise of painful gurgles reaches my ears. I continue to toss up in my head whether or not to check it out, until my curiosity finally manages to get the better of me and I think 'to hell with it.'

Treading carefully, I edge closer towards the source of the wheezing. With each step it quivers- like it can sense me nearing it. Now and then what sounds like a garbled voice croaks and quivers- and my resolve begins to waver with it.  
What am I going to find, and will I regret this decision to find it? Swallowing, I stop as I see, in the dimmest of lights, the top of someone's boot.

Against my previous logic, I hiss quietly. "Is someone there?"

Nothing answers. But then, once more, the sound of gurgles begins again.

Alright, that's it. Screwing my courage to the sticking place, I stride forwards and forcibly turn to face whatever is dying in front of me- knowing that I might very well regret what I see, but it is better to regret what I've done than to regret what I haven't done.

And as I open my eyes, my world is overcome by the dying boy I find before me.

I vaguely remember his name, but not what District he's from. Jasse Harridan- the boy who stabbed someone at that sponsor party. Back then I hadn't paid much attention to him- since he didn't score abnormally high or pose much of a threat. He had been invited by Natalia to join her group, just as I had. I guess he took the opportunity.

...look where that got him.

Whatever found Jasse Harridan wasn't taking any prisoners. As a dim light spreads down and illuminates the guy- I have to take a few steps back out of revulsion. His face is all but gone, pulverised to the bone with holes dug deep into his cheeks and a puncture wound straight through his eye- like something had sunk its teeth over his head and bit right into his face.

That's not all. This thing was big- and probably weighed tons- because his lower abdomen looks like it was flattened. His legs are limp and he obviously can't move them. Jasse's chest rises and falls with extreme pain and difficulty, as his one eye struggles to stay open. If he weren't breathing, I'd assume he was dead.

I want to say something. To ask what did this to him. To ask if there's _any _chance that he's alright. After all, Jasse didn't seem like a bad kid. But as I step forward again, I freeze again as his entire body begins to convulse.

-He's dying. There's absolutely no way of saving this guy, I'm sure of it. I'm starting to question if he's even conscious; more than a human vegetable. Jasse's eye is blank and staring- and his eyelid flickers as if it's not even under his own control. His body continues to wheeze, but no longer does it sound like a cry of pain or for help.

It's just his body... his body's automatic response to being in this much pain...

...

...I don't have a knife. I don't have anything that can make this guy die any faster. He may have had something, but I don't want to feel around for something that might not be there. I think for a moment that maybe- if I stomped really hard- I could fracture his skull... but the idea of doing that makes me feel mortified.  
Jasse is in pain. A lot of pain. But it's taking so long for him to die. I bet his family is watching; screaming and crying with sorrow for their son or brother. They just want it to end. They don't want him in pain anymore than I do.

They want the pain to stop.

Images of a death I never saw begin to fill my head. The voiceless woman shrieks in agony as she falls to the ground. Jasse frantically tries to escape the beast that attacked him. Together, together they're grabbed- and together they fall- begging for _me_ to put them out of their agony.

'_...but..._'

...wrenching my gaze away from him, I slowly and shakily begin to walk away.

'_I am... not strong enough..._'

There's no real destination I'm walking to. Just away. Away from Jasse. I have that feeling in my eyes that a person gets when they want to cry, but I don't. I just keep walking, vaguely aware that the cameras have surely left me by now.

'_Not strong enough... to put someone out of their pain._'

Hours pass. Maybe. I can't really tell when I walk. I'm thirsty, and my head is pounding, but I don't care. I'm just waiting for it. For the cannon to boom and allow me to breathe properly once more.

Almost conveniently, it blasts once- sharp and clear- and then all is silent once more.

...suddenly, and without really thinking about it- I choke-

"I'm sorry... I am so _damn sorry_..."

* * *

_Diego "D"; 18 years; the Capitol Sector 8._

"Diego. Diego- rise and shine~!"

I cannot remember the last time I was woken up by another person. Usually I woke up to an empty home, or a blaring alarm clock with a note telling me to run errands for my Aunt. Not once did I have someone like Montserrat grinning cheerfully in my face and gently rocking my shoulders.

Gently wiping the crust from my eyes, I sit up and let the blanket fall off me. "Has the sun risen?"

Montserrat shakes his head. "Only a little, we'll beat it to the punch though. Come on."

These little phrases that Montserrat uses make me feel sort of happy. 'Beat it to the Punch' for instance. I would not usually hear anyone say anything of the sort, unless it was on television. It gives Montserrat a sort of 'rebellious' sound to him, which goes well with his now shaved yellow mohawk and still shining lip and ear piercings.  
Although, now that I think of it- we all look a little dangerous. Marshall has those odd tattoos on his shoulder and forearm, as well as the scar that traces the side of his face. Even I look rather daunting myself.

As I pack up my blanket and help dismantle the tent that shielded us from sight last night, I hear Marshall grumbling about not being woken up for his shift. Because of that he apparently feels 'too rested' and is angry at Montserrat. This just makes my friend laugh and punch the boy lightly on the arm.

"Just shut up and be grateful," Montserrat laughs. "So I'm guessing that neither of you woke up because of the cannon fire?"

Cannon fire? My face turns to stone and almost immediately Marshall voices both our opinions by crying-

"Because of _the what?_" His eyes widen and mouth sags open. "Why didn't you wake us? It could've been close!"

He probably wasn't expecting that reaction, because Montserrat looks taken aback. Quickly he almost guiltily begins to mutter about it being safer to stay put and not run around as others get killed. Marshall continues to look sort of angry- but I find truth in Montserrat's foot shuffling. It was safer to stay put rather than run to and from danger.

Not wanting him to worry about it any further, I clap him once on the shoulder as he had once done to me. "You did the right thing. Thank you."

Instantly, all signs of worry disappear from Montserrat's face- and even Marshall relaxes in a smile as I retract my hand and begin to busy myself with the bags. It's not until a few minute pass that I realise that the pair of them are doing nothing but observing me as I do so.  
Hesitantly, I look up and stare confused back at them. Young Matthews seems to be holding his breath, fighting the urge to laugh as Montserrat just grins down at me. I am unsure whether I want to ask what is wrong before Marshall suddenly bursts into laughter.

"I really think we're corrupting him!" The boy laughs gleefully, holding at his sides. "Did you see what he did? Did you? He totally gave you the '_it's okay bro_' pat on the shoulder!"

Baffled, I stare blankly as Marshall continues to laugh at me. When I turn to Montserrat, he too snorts a little and smiles a wide smile- holding himself back from laughing any harder.

I don't understand. "What is so funny?" I ask, feeling a little overwhelmed. "Did I do something wrong or amusing?"

"No, no you didn't do anything," Montserrat says cheerfully. "It's just still pretty funny how... how different you are, you know?"

Ah. _That _again. It certainly is not the first time one of these two have commented on my lack of common social interactions, and I doubt it will be the last. Apparently it is something of great interest and, to my confusion, amusement.  
Somehow it makes me feel strange. Perhaps it is sadness for being seen as socially inept, but what more could I have been expecting? A person does not learn how to be accepted in society _spontaneously_.

My depression is obvious, and Montserrat's smile relaxes into an apologetic look.

"Hey, don't think of it as a bad thing Diego. It just means there's so much crap you haven't had to go through." Scratching at his ear, he busies himself by zipping up his duffle bag.

This only intrigues me further. "What sort of 'crap'?"

Marshall answers before Montserrat can. "Oh, you know- being bullied at school, or having adults sneer down at you for being young."

"Yeah, exactly," Montserrat hoists the bag over his shoulder. "Or girls, and all the trouble they bring."

"Girls?"

There is an awkward pause. Followed by-

"Yeah... uh... you know... _those_ relationships."

Sounds of the forest waking up all around us distract me from prodding my friend for a further explanation. In truth, I have absolutely no idea what he means by 'girls and the troubles they bring'. Are girls a naturally troublesome breed? I frown as I run over the few females I have come into contact with.

Of course I could call Aunt Romania troublesome. She caused me quite a bit of stress from time to time by leaving me in a home with no food and pittance to spend. All she ever talked to me were her pessimistic views of Panem. So I suppose I could say that she brought me 'trouble'.

But she's hardly a 'girl'- rather a woman, and a dead one at that. So instead my mind turns to the only other girl I have come to know in my lifetime; Koriana, 'Kori' Wilder.

Kori was not troublesome. She was confusing, but nothing that caused me any real distress. On the contrary, she made the days leading up to life in this arena rather... bearable. While it was plain to see that she was sad over leaving her family, who had wept so much over her leaving, Kori was kind enough to smile at me in a reassuring way that said, almost comfortingly 'so here we are.'

It made me feel not so alone here. Really, it is the only time I have felt connected with another person- other than Montserrat and Marshall, but I'm having some difficulty understanding them at times, just as I did her.

...is that what Montserrat meant? How hard 'girls' are to understand?

As we begin walking, I decide it would be best to get my question out of the way before we must focus on more important things such as finding a proper source of water that the lake of gold did not provide. Turning to Montserrat, I wait until I catch his eye before asking quietly-

"Before, about girls being troublesome- did you mean how hard it is to understand them?"

A few beats pass before he looks away and replies quietly-

"I meant how troublesome it is when you fall in _love _with them."

...He looks back at me, but I do not answer him. My mind is too busy wrapping around this answer.

"...fall in love?"

For the first time in my life, I feel a pang of jealousy for not having experienced this phenomenon- and that Montserrat has had the privilege and called it 'troublesome'.

I know what love is supposed to be, but only in movies and in very dusty books half eaten by moths in my Aunt's cupboard. Romantic love is filled with sighing, smiling and hugging- but most of all a want for kissing and touching. Not once have I experienced such a feeling, and certainly not as far as I can remember with Koriana.

Yet with the thought of her and the idea of love in my mind, an odd feeling begins to rise up through me- and the only coherent thought I can associate it with is Koriana.

Suddenly, and thankfully, Marshall lets out a low whistle and distracts me from these worrisome ideas.

"Guys, I think we've found ourselves a stream."

I best preoccupy myself with the joy of having found water rather than the silly reasons my mind has concocted to confuse itself. Calmly breathing in, I gaze down at the steady trickling of water that we have indeed stumbled across. It is very shallow, but strong enough to have left a trail. A recently permanent fixture of this forest.

"We shall follow it upstream."

And I shall do my best to stop this sudden and inexplicable urge to see Koriana again.

* * *

_Natalia Marinos; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 2._

My heart hasn't stopped stabbing away at the inside of me since Jasse howled for help. We ran as fast as we could- and we found him, that _bastard_, obviously trying to run away from us... facing the business end of the most horrifying creature I've seen in my life of seventeen years.

Before Brandit pulled me away, stopping me from chasing after two tributes I saw escaping on the other side of the crime, I witnessed what the bear did to Jasse. It was so quick that only catching a glimpse showed me everything.  
It slammed its gargantuan paw down onto the boy's pelvis- no doubt shattering it under its immense weight judging from his scream. Then, leaving no time for any kind of miraculous recovery- it opened its great maw of fangs and clamped its jaw shut over our traitor's face.

I thought there was no way of surviving that, but there was no cannon until about fifteen or twenty minutes later. By that time the three of us were running as fast as we could back the way we came, and when we heard the bear roaring and rumbling after us it was as if the world had been replaced by a race to the finish _with no end in sight_.

'_This is it,_' I remember thinking. '_There's no way of outrunning this thing. We're all going to die._'

...but... as each of us began to slow down from exhaustion... we came to realise that the thunderous roars had stopped, and there was no sign of the bear following us. Brandit, Vinel and I just stood and stared behind us in amazement.

It was a miracle, whatever made that creature stop chasing us. Nothing short of that could've made a bear muttation abandon a hunt. For one reason or another, the Gamemakers had pulled some strings and saved us from that jaw full of teeth.

Why they did that, I'm not looking forward to learning.

"Do careers always have this much trouble?" Brandit mutters dully, glancing at me as we stagger back to camp.

"...not usually..." I mumble back. My feet are aching from walking. "...at least, never this early."

The first night of the Games doesn't usually involve suped-up muttations, and the cameras generally just focus on the progress the tributes have made so far through the arena, as well as recapping the deaths of the bloodbath. Then again, the bloodbath was pretty small this time- so maybe that bear thing was to raise the score a little...

Thinking this somehow makes me feel even more frustrated. It's as if the Gamemakers are _telling me _that we don't cut it as careers, sneering that 'You only killed one tribute.'

...and I didn't even kill him. _Brandit _was the one who finished Jason off. For all my determination to fight my way out of these games, I can't kill someone who's _asking _for it. I bite my teeth together; these sour thoughts paining my mind. What am I going to do when I finally find that brat again?

Vinel breaks my train of thought by letting out a shout. Brandit stiffens as the guy bursts into a sprint, drawing our attention to the rounded silhouette of our base camp.  
The dome of roses. Without realising, my entire body relaxes and I feel a smile touch my lips.

We made it back.

_Thank god_.

"Cotton! Cotton-!"

Part of me wants to scold Vinel for so recklessly calling out her name, but I'm too exhausted from the lack of rest. So instead I just continue staggering alongside Brandit as Vinel hacks open a small opening and- still calling out that girl's name- disappears inside.

Brandit chuckles softly. "He must've been worried."

"I can't imagine why." I answer bluntly. "It's not like he really likes her."

In the darkness of this early morning, I see Brandit give me a curious look. "Now why would you say that?"

It's hard not to snort in derision and go off on a tangent, but Brandit is one of the few- if not the _only_- tributes I don't want to belittle. He's been good to me, and I'd like to return the courtesy.

"Well, aside from the fact he obviously has it bad for that engaged girl," I begin quietly as we near the dome. "He didn't even bother standing up for Cotton when I called her weak and told her to stay back. If you like someone, you damn well stand up for them."

This makes him go quiet. As I cut open a hole to step through- I couldn't find the one Vinel just made- Brandit speaks.

"I think sometimes it takes something terrifying, like the thought of losing someone... before you realise just how much you cared about them."

...

While I want to say something to this, to tell Brandit that he's wrong- I'm plagued with the thoughts of my mother grabbing tightly to my arm and how hard it was for me to let go. And just as I manage to push these feelings back down in my heart, I see Vinel and Cotton.

'_-the thought of losing someone-'_

Burying his face in her hair, Vinel holds the stunned girl tight around her shoulders. Cotton is rigid with alarm. He's whispering something, but neither Brandit nor I can hear it. She slowly begins to relax, and wraps her arms around his middle.

With a low whistle, Brandit trudges forwards. "-I'm here all week folks."

He thinks it's funny yet all I feel is a mix of upset and anger. _Fantastic_. Just when those two were beginning to separate, Vinel goes and has a change of heart and decides to start it all up again. Now Cotton is going to become full of herself for having a guy on her side and will no doubt start making trouble for me.  
It sounds like paranoia, but I've seen it too often for it to just be a coincidence.

We approach the cornucopia together, and Cotton takes little time in informing us of who the cannon was for- the girl from 9. Brandit and I take a brief look at her obliterated corpse- just to confirm that Cotton had identified her correctly- and then tell Vinel to drag her remains outside for the hovercraft to pick up.

Just like last time, Vinel wrinkles his face at the order. "Why am I the one who has to drag it outside?"

Amazing how a human girl can turn into an 'it' within an hour or so.

"Well if you'd rather use her as a pillow, by all means- keep her here." I snark, leaning my aching head against the cornucopia. "As long as that smell doesn't bother you."

For a second, it looks as if the guy is going to snap back at me. But a gentle hand touches his arm and he looks down to see Cotton smiling reassuringly up at him.

"Come on. I'll help you."

Bitterly I watch the pair of them almost happily get to work moving what remains of that girl as Brandit rummages through the supplies. I hear the sounds of Cotton murmuring sounds of disgust and Vinel chortling softly. Despite the fact the corpse is falling to bits as they drag it, I don't hear anything worse than a 'Eurgh!'

I'm distracted from my irritation by Brandit. "Natalia. Come sit here."

"What do you want?" I ask slowly, eyeing him from against the cornucopia. He's sitting inside the small circumference of dirt devoid of thorny vines.

The guy smirks dryly and lifts up a little bottle of disinfectant. "To _gut _you. Now get over here. I know you haven't put any on your cheek yet."

Somehow when he jokes about killing me, I can tell that there's no menace behind it. With a begrudging sigh, I trudge over to him and squat down- only for him to push me down onto my butt by the shoulders and begin dabbing a swab into the bottle.

"Just leave them alone for now. Getting worked up will do you no good."

Surprised, I wince as the stinging liquid brushes against the cuts in my cheek. While I had been sure to rip the stray ribbons of skin almost immediately, I had neglected to properly disinfect it. I was too busy formulating my plans on surviving the next few days.  
Perhaps if I was using my head properly, I'd have remembered that disinfecting is a vital part of surviving...

"I can't help it... I don't like them that much..."

As I mutter this, I can't help but sound just a tiny bit like a scolded child. With this guy who's a year younger than me somehow understanding everything better than me- it's sort of diminishing my self-worth.

Brandit clicks his tongue. "I already knew that."

"Really?" I glance at him sourly. "How could you _possibly _know that?"

When he laughs I stiffen with annoyance and embarrassment.

"It's written all over your face. You're not a good liar, you know that?" Brandit smiles cheerfully. "You've been glaring at everyone since I met you. In fact, the only time I can't remember you glaring was at the party."

"I-Is that so..." I try not to sound surprised. At the fact he can remember so much or that he's learned one of my weaknesses. "Well... don't expect me to change or anything-"

The last thing I was expecting was for him to laugh again. This time he slops some of the disinfectant down his leg and begins shaking his head, still grinning.

"Wouldn't want you to change anyway. You're perfectly fine the way you are."

While he cleans up the spilt liquid, I take this time to look away from him and recompose myself. My cheeks are burning from the fluid and my whole face feels hot. Thank god it's night time, or else the sponsors might think I was blushing or something.

Yet even when I stand up to walk away, splashing some water from one of our many canteens on my face to cool down, I'm very aware that the warmth isn't disappearing at all... and if this isn't the disinfectant, it's either a fever or...

...

Vinel's voice cries from outside the dome that they've finished moving the remains of Britney, and this is proven by the sound of the hovercraft descending to remove her from the arena. However, instead of thinking that now there are only seventeen tributes left in this arena- all I can think about are the words 'You're perfectly fine the way you are' and how Brandit had said them so cheerfully.

I'm approach by Cotton, who stares down at me stubbornly. "Is it okay if we get some rest now?"

Not even listening, I nod. "Sure. Okay."

...so I'm fine the way I am... huh...

Right now... I hope that everyone in Panem heard him say that... absolutely everyone...

'Perfectly Fine'...

* * *

_Ferroh Axum; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 7._

I don't wake up Faye-Anna right away. It's still quite early, and there isn't any rush for the moment. And after how long it took for her to finally relax and fall asleep, I don't want to destroy that any sooner than necessary. The girl deserves to rest, and it isn't easy to say when we'll be able to sleep so easily again.

Last night I didn't sleep too well. The anxiousness of what might be surrounding us at any given moment was more than enough to keep me wide awake and paranoid. Visions of sharp beaked birds or beasts with pointed teeth kept lunging out of the darkness at me as Faye-Anna peacefully slept upon my lap.  
If anyone managed to sleep last night, I'd love to know how they achieved it. How anyone has ever slept in a Hunger Game is beyond me. Perhaps it gets less scary as the days go on and there are fewer tributes out in the wilderness prepared to kill...

Even as a mental theory, I can already tell that it's wrong. Eventually all tributes just collapse into sleep out of exhaustion. Only once or twice has a tribute staved off sleep on purpose, and they tended to drop dead on all fours around the week mark.

That won't be me. Even if I have to ask Faye-Anna to knock me out with force, which would be a difficult thing to ask seeing as she seems to be so timid, I refuse to die because of something like that.

Honestly I don't want to die at all- obviously none of us do- but if I have any choice in the matter... I'd rather it not be something as futile and pointless as starving... it'd be better if it were quick and painless, for me and my family.

...although mainly for me.

Taking great care in easing the sleeping girl from my shoulder, I let Faye-Anna down gently while I stand up to stretch my legs. I know not to go for any unscheduled walks away from her- so I only pace a few feet away from her before turning right back again. Sure enough, the girl continues to sleep on, undisturbed.  
No doubt our partnership has more than a few sponsors wondering. Part of me feels more than a little squeamish of the theories undoubtedly being cooked up about myself and this underage girl, some of which will probably have me coming off as a creep, or a paedophile- despite the fact we're both children.

Even if someone were to ask me to explain my choice in choosing her, I don't know if I could answer them all that clearly. I could be cold and unfeeling and say things about using her for a tactical reason- such as using Faye-Anna for her sympathy factor with the audience. Or I could try and nail up a strategic factor such as 'she's intelligent'.

At least those reasons are believable. Cold, and a little snide- but an audience would nod and understand that train of thought.

Who would believe me if I said 'she makes me feel stable' as my reason?

Looking at her, no one would see her as much use. Faye-Anna has obviously been living a stressful life that has led her down a path of malnutrition. Her frizzled hair covers her peaceful face and her head rests upon her stick-thin little arms.  
No, she isn't strong compared to some of the other girls. I won't be able to depend on her to carry me through this forest if something bad happened to me. But that's not why I liked her out of everyone else.

_"You're a fragile thing aren't you?_"

Strength isn't what I was looking for, someone delicate like her to balance out myself was; a girl who could do the job of Ashen whilst we were in this monstrous place, a person who could make sure I wouldn't 'forget myself'.  
When Ashen said those words during our goodbye, I didn't know what she was talking about. But since my attack on that Avox in the training centre... I've been piecing together the similar instances to that instance and seeing a picture that only Ashen could've noticed.

The story I told Faye-Anna was a lie. Yes, I rescued Ashen from drowning, but I lied about what I saw. There was no way I could tell the real story on live television with everyone watching. Not after I promised that crying Ashen I wouldn't tell anyone, ever.

I close my eyes and lean back against the tree trunk, breathing deeply as I remember the scene as it truly was.

The three boys who were with her in the pool grounds didn't just 'knock her as they ran past'...

...they were trying to rape her.

It was after hours. The sky was getting dark. Everyone had gone home, and I had only finished up late because I lost track of time in the library. So I took the shortcut home by walking out the back entrance of the school, the entrance that runs _directly _alongside the pool area.

-How it would've been so easy not to hear her fighting them off. A few grunts here, a few shouts there- I could've thought it was just a bunch of guys practicing for the swim team. Perhaps that's why they were there in the first place. Why they suddenly decided _then _was the time and place to attack that girl... I don't know...

But then I heard her, and I _knew _it was her. After all those days of seeing her so energetically ricochet around the school, it was impossible not to recognise her cry of pain.

I ran towards the sounds of the scuffle. And there I saw her, flat on her back- kicking and screaming as those guys- those _bastards_- grabbing for her- yanking at her hair, her swimsuit-

...and I... I didn't black out like I told Faye-Anna... I remember... I remember it all.

They didn't realise I was there until the first one collided head first into the edge of the pool. He was out cold. The second one turned around just in time for my fist to crunch into his cheek- and he tripped over Ashen's leg. Ashen stopped screaming, but those guys began howling. I guess they were angry I had stopped them in the midst of their attempt, or they were frantic that I was going to turn them in.

Whatever the case was, the two turned on me.

It was easy to get rid of the first one. I punched him again in the face and he went down like a lamp. The second one- the one who had been dragging Ashen by her hair, probably the one who had the bright idea of assaulting her- put up a bigger fight. He sent me smashing jaw first into the ground and began to kick me as I struggled to get back up.

"_-STOP IT! STOP IT-!_"

Ashen was too close not to get involved. She threw herself on top of me and got the full brunt of one of his kicks. She slammed backwards into the pool's edge- and, as I lay there straining to push myself up- I heard the splash.

...that was when... with my jaw hanging open and blood smattered across my face... the sound of Ashen screaming and thrashing about for help... I did what I had done in the training room...

...I lost it.

...

While I didn't kill them... it was a miracle they didn't end up hospitalised. They told the school faculty they were mugged outside school grounds. To tell them I attacked them would mean explaining why I was trying to protect a girl from them. In the end, no one came to talk to me or Ashen. No one suspected me or Ashen.

...everything else was true... I did tell her to stop crying... I almost begged her to. Even in that half-lucid state- I don't know how to deal with girls. Ashen told me later that it was almost ridiculous for a boy whose jaw was grazed and bloody to expect a girl to stop crying while he looked that scary... but I think she was just saying that to cover up the truth that she was traumatised from what had almost happened to her.

...

And yet... we've never told anyone. She didn't want anyone to know. All that became of that evening was an unlikely friendship between two Capitol outsiders.

"...Ferroh..?"

Faye-Anna has stirred; I realise that my padding around has probably woke her. With weary eyes she looks up at me, sleepy but concerned.

"Is something wrong? Did something happen?"

Smiling slightly, I shake my head and gesture for her to go back to sleep.

"Nothing happened. Everything's fine."

At least, as fine as it will ever be. It can only get worse from here.

* * *

_Minerva Nanaia; 18 years; the Capitol Sector 4._

Seventeen tributes left. Seventeen. Just thinking that makes my skin prickle from realising that fact. Yesterday we were twenty-four, and now there are only seventeen. That means seven people have died in the past twenty-four hours. _Seven_.

It should be a simple thing for me to process, but it isn't. I'm not mean spirited enough to wave away seven lives I had come into contact with. I know I should harden my heart now; prepare my heart for the deaths to come- but I can't do it. Only a few of the other tributes seem deserving of death, and even then I won't be able to feel smug about it.

I'm really not built for this, am I? This is what I think as I drag my feet across the forest floor. For everything I could do back home- all my time management skills and personal achievements- none of them can help me with accepting a person's death as a simple thing.

Last night when I saw those five faces in the sky, I could feel my heart ache. Of all the tributes to die, I knew that that tiny girl from Sector 1 was a likely candidate. She was the smallest of us all. And yet, when I saw her blue eyes looking down at me from the heavens, I felt something akin to alarm.  
So life really isn't like a movie or one of my many books. Children aren't exempt from terrible things like a premature death. That girl looked as though she was barely twelve, just _beginning _her life. And she's dead.

-How can I feel like I deserve to live just because I'm getting married... when she didn't deserve to even though she had barely begun to live herself?

My tears stopped me from seeing who else died yesterday. I'm a little glad about that. I'm positive that if I knew, it would only upset me more. I'm so sure in fact that I'm almost willing to not look up for the rest of these Games... just to make sure I don't accidentally see someone's face I couldn't bear to see in the sky...

As I sadly ponder this, something silver suddenly catches my eye. My hand flinches towards the bow slung over my arm- instinctively thinking it might be someone's eye or a weapon of sorts- but when I see that it's just a small scrap of silver cloth on the ground, my heartbeat slows back down again.

What is that? I trod carefully, still somewhat wary of what it might be- until I'm close enough to pick it up. As my fingers snare the material, I fondle it a little between the pads of my fingertips.  
It's smooth, and oddly familiar. Not part of a tribute's costume, that's for sure... than what could it be? I squint a little- running my fingers over it for some sort of symbol or writing, but the little patch of silver fabric is clean-

...except for the thin but sturdy strings that are dangling and swaying from its sides. It's not until I see them that I instantly recognise what this fabric is and stash it deep into my pocket.

This is a sponsored items parachute. The little useless scrap of material that lets it descend safely into the arena. Someone must have torn it off and left it here by accident... or on purpose.

Could this be some sort of elaborate trap? I glance around cautiously. If it is, whoever devised it isn't making themself known. Perhaps this being here really is just an act of carelessness... it's just so hard to trust even this, an innocent scrap of cloth. That's how much my arena is playing with my mind...

The rivers that lead to the lake haven't been as easy to find as I hoped, meaning I've had to go all this time without anything to drink but my own saliva. My shirt was wet with sweat when I awoke- probably out of fear- and as childish as it felt I sucked the moisture from that just to keep myself from feeling too woozy today.  
Pride isn't something I can be narcissistic about anymore. Surviving past the week mark will mean I'm going to start looking worse and worse for wear with each passing day. If I have to look stupid by drinking moisture or even chewing leaves instead of eating food- so be it.

As I begin to walk again, I wonder if Vidar is watching me right now. It's unlikely the cameras are on me- walking isn't exactly 'thrilling footage'- but I know that they'll keep little screens on me every now and again just to show I'm on the move.  
My ring feels tight on my finger thinking about him. Will I receive some sort of aid soon? Vidar did promise he'd send in something... perhaps if I don't find water he'll send me some instead... although he might not be able to afford it...

For the first time ever, I feel a pang of disappointment remembering that Vidar isn't as well off as my own family. I do love him, it just... it would've been a happy positive if he had the money to help me through this... as the days wear on, things will become more expensive, even more expensive than what my family can afford.

Particularly since my parents are out of work at the moment. Remembering this sends a bristling sensation of anger across my shoulders. That's right. My father was sacked so that _Crane _girl could play whatever sick game she's playing with us now. Was it just coincidence that I- the daughter of the man whose entire life's work she destroyed- was chosen for her first game? I'm starting to think that it's more than just a 'happy' coincidence...

"...it's too... too perfectly set up..."

I hadn't thought about it before, but now that I have- the blatant set-up makes my hatred for this girl boil even more. How could it be a coincidence that Nanaia's daughter would be reaped? I wouldn't be surprised if the same is for that pop-star Saint-Claire, thrown in just to make sure her games would be a smash hit.  
This makes my head spin with questions. Then what about the others? Why were they chosen? Were only a few of us handpicked- and the others are just unfortunate children needed to fill in the gaps? Or are we all important somehow...?

Each face runs through my head, the little girl from 1, that Natalia Marinos girl, Vinel, Saint-Claire- all of them- why us? Why- of all the children in all the Capitol- were _we _picked?

Fury and anger bubbling from within- I shout towards the sky, towards Iilvsea Crane, not caring for consequence-

"WHAT DO YOU _WANT FROM US_?"

* * *

_Koriana Wilder; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 8._

While I've never honestly eaten dried fruit and nuts before now, they're surprisingly satisfying when you haven't eaten anything for an entire day. They're almost like little wrinkled vitamins that are sweetened for kids who hate medicine.

The forest is dark, even though the sun has risen. My guess is that it's cloudier than it was yesterday, because even though I can vaguely see what's around me- it isn't half as bright as it was when I was trekking yesterday.  
I woke up in this dark feeling terrified and alone. While in my dreams I was safe and warm, wrapped in the blankets of my bed back home- as soon as I awoke I remembered the dire reality of my situation.

All alone, in a place that exists just to kill me. That thought alone was enough to render me motionless for ten minutes, laying there staring up at the darkened giant forest's canopy. It was like waking up from a dream into a nightmare there's no escaping from.  
For the first time since my plate rose up into that dome of roses, the reality of these games sunk in for real. This _wasn't _going to be easy. It wasn't _meant _to be easy.

Everything here has been designed for me to fall into being its prey.

But while I walk now, all I can think as I slowly chew through this tiny mouthful is how hard I'm going to fight to make sure that doesn't happen.

Since I was asleep, I don't know if the cannons rang or not while I was resting. From a strategic standpoint, I should hope that they did because that would mean that there are fewer people that remain to try and force me into action.

But if a cannon rang, then that would mean that someone died. And not just someone- someone I _know_; a person that I have seen with my own two eyes and come to know from afar over these past few days.

That makes all the difference in the world.

Even though I'm still exhausted from all the walking I did yesterday, I began moving again as soon as I was coherent enough to move my legs. While these fruits and nuts will keep me going for a few days- perhaps a week if I begin to ration them- I don't have any water. My mouth is pretty dry since I haven't had anything to drink since I took that last sip of water in the launch room. Probably by this time tomorrow I'll be poking my tongue out and wishing for rain.

While I don't want to admit it, I probably should have read more survival guides during our time in the training centre. Every now and then I considered joining Diego in that battered section of magazines and heavy books- but I always decided against it.  
Even then I didn't want to get too close to him; if I did- it would have been so much harder to turn down his offer of becoming allies.

Somewhere out there, I hope Diego and his friends are safe. I look up at the forest canopy one more time. Maybe we'll run into one another again... I hope we don't... but maybe I'll be able to sneak a glance... just one final glance of him...before...

This thought upsets me more than I was this morning. The idea that there'll be 'a final glance' makes my stomach tie itself together in pain. Tears creep up again in the corner of my eyes just as they had done yesterday. Furious with myself for showing more weakness, I rub them with the heels of my palms.

"...s-stop being stupid..."

It's because of the dehydration I'm feeling this way. It's because I'm tired and sore from all this walking and constant fear. It's not... it's not anything else... I don't want it to be anything else... because if it is I'd...

...but somewhere, in the back of my mind, I keep thinking everything's going to be fine; that these games aren't a life-changing ordeal. In my heart and my head I know that my delusion isn't real, but I can't let go of the idea that when those trumpets sound, all twenty-four of us are suddenly going to sit up and leave this place together.

But that's impossible. I know that. I knew that going into this place. But I didn't think that over such a short amount of time I'd end up caring about these people I barely know...

Suddenly I feel my foot slip. My leg jolts forwards and I shriek in alarm as I realise that the ground has suddenly become slick and icy. I shut my eyes tight and throw my hands forwards to protect myself from the fall, only for the sickening sensation of hurtling head over heels to overcome me. Wind and light rush across me and I realise a second in that this is a _long fall_. As the entire world slams up on my back- I hit the strong ground hard, gasping for air as my eyes bulge open in panic-

WH-What happened-! I push my hands out behind me to push myself up, only for my hands to burn against the freezing cold of the ground beneath me and my shoulders to slam back down. Winded and frantic- I stare up and see that I've fallen into a giant hole or a ditch- the dense canopy casting a shadow completely over its place.  
I hadn't been paying enough attention to where I was stepping! I wince, slowly sitting up without relying on the ground to support myself. If I dig my nails into it, I manage some stability. But it's cold, painfully cold. This isn't just some ditch- it can't be-

Breathing fast and unsure of what to do, I try not to focus on the throbbing pain in my ankle or the ice under my fingernails and instead do my best to register what I've fallen into. Rather than a hole- it seems more like an entrance to and underground cave- or a cavern that delves deep into the ground and is overcast with shadow.  
What is an ice cavern doing in a forest? My breathing quickens and I feel ridiculous thinking such a stupid question. What does that matter what it's doing here? I just need to get out of here- but looking up I'm stunned to see that the ground above is out of my reach by almost a full _me_.

...there's no way I can climb out of there... not without something to carve out a step or some sort of rope... there's no way I can get out of here on my own... and if I can't get out the top...

My eyes trail towards the shadows that lurk in the depths of the ice cavern.

...do... do I have to... go in there...?

* * *

**Capitol Question #019; could you kill someone if it was to put them out of their misery?**


	45. A Little Good Fortune

**A Vivid Note: **EXPOSITION FILLER CHAPTER TIME. Doot-doot-doo. I enjoy having these every once and a while to mix it up- and because life in the arena gets bland since I can't just have an endless stream of mutts, death and drama every chapter. There are some... _extended _periods of boring where some delicious exposition-filler is due. Although this chapter is quite shorter than the others (_by about 3000 words_), but that's also because it's a filler.

Oh, and as always- thank you all for being the beautiful people that you are. Sharing this story with you all has been like spending a very long lunch-time with school friends giggling over silly things.  
I hope that this euphoria can continue for quite some time longer.

**Capitol Question #020; as a secret admirer, how would you go about making your affections known? E.g. Romantic poems, love letters, little presents etc. **

**Special Event #002; can you think of any 'portmanteau' names for any pairings you like in 'the Capitol Games'? (**_Crack/Slash pairings are completely acceptable_**)**

(**Definition of 'portmanteau': **the adding of two characters names to show you like the pairing and creating an entirely new name. For instance- Katniss and Peeta would equal 'Katta' _or_ 'Peeniss', or Finnick and Annie would be 'Finnie' _or_ 'Annick'. etc.)

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Oswald Casca; 28 years; the Capitol Centre._

I hate corpses. I hate them, I hate them, I hate them. All I can think of when my latex-gloved hand brushes or skims across their cold skin is how I am currently touching _a dead person_. Whoever they were isn't important any more- because all they are now is a _dead_ corpse on my table.

The fact I have to stitch their wounds up and make them out to look like they're living again for their grieving families is even worse. They're dead. No amount of surgery or make-up can change that.

Why did I even sign on for this career? I ask myself this over and over again, but all that really comes to mind is 'this is what Dad did... and what _his _father did... and what _his _father did...' and so on and so forth until the records become illegible and too worn to read.  
Felix is always suggesting that I find something less stressful for work, but part of me couldn't bear to leave after struggling on for so long. It'd be like losing this long battle to my squeamishness- rendering all those nights I spent holding my breath over those dead children's corpses pointless.

I'm not what you'd call a proud man, or even a determined one. I just don't like the idea of losing to myself. If it was someone else- that might be understandable- but if I quit this job, I'll only be failing myself.

"You're an odd bird, ain't ya?" Leaning over my desk with folded arms and tapping the toe of his right boot against the heel of the other, Felix grins cheerfully. "Always working so hard, don't you ever get tired?"

Resting my pen on top of the supply order form, I sigh and wearily smile at my colleague. "Of course I get tired. I'm always tired."

"Well you hide it _magnificently _friend o' mine!" Clapping his hands against the desk, Felix pushes himself upright. "When are you going to sign out tonight? I was thinking of hitting the city m'self."

Felix is what I'd call the exact opposite of me. While we essentially do the same job, we do different aspects of it better. I'm more experienced with paperwork and filling out forms, which Felix would find complicated and far too difficult to write out himself. He on the other hand, despite his relentlessly chipper nature, is only the most skilful man with a scalpel this side of the Capitol has seen in a long while.

The differences don't end there either. To see us standing side by side, one naturally assumes that I'm employed for something along the lines of science; I'm short, stocky and with mousy brown hair that hasn't seen a comb since I last went out to restock my household cabinets. Work has always come before my personal appearance, and even though the work is paid handsomely- none of it goes towards alterations or presentation.

Of course- since whatever almighty force that pushed the two of us together was intent on making us so different- Felix, and his love of dressing snappily, appears more suited to a job on television screens rather than pouring over corpses with me. With cropped black hair, mischievous green eyes and gangly legs that are as long as I am tall- I was stunned when he was introduced to me as a fellow co-worker.

And, as if that weren't enough, he mirrors my constant lack of energy with an exuberance one could only call 'ceaseless'.

"Not tonight Felix," I sigh, picking up the pen again. "Even if I do finish early, I think I'd prefer to just go straight to bed with a mug of something warm..."

Blowing a loud raspberry, Felix straightens up and begins to comically teeter back and forth. "No fun you are, are ya? Let your hair down Ozzy or it'll go grey before y'know or enjoy it!"

While he plays the part of being disappointed quite convincingly, I know he's just showing off. Just as he knows no matter how many times he might offer to hang out with me after work, I'll never say yes.

"Have fun tonight won't you?" I say, not looking up at him from my work again. "You did a lot of good work today."

Hardly an exaggeration; he singlehandedly managed to piece together the girl who had been destroyed by that dreadful sky muttation. I couldn't bear to be in the same room as her, but by the time Felix was done with her, she looked as peaceful as a dead girl could look. One would've never have guessed that her body had been in shambles looking at her after he finished work.

"Tha' I did." Nodding stiffly, the man swirls about on his left heel and faces the doorway. "Tha' I did."

Turning back, he winks and produces his hat from seemingly nowhere just to tip it for me. I return the favour by twirling my left hand at him, and with that- our interactions end for another night. At least, they would- if I didn't hear him whistling all the way down the corridor outside.

What a fellow. He's clearly a bright and cheery sort of man; so what on earth is he doing with a job that involves spending half the day bent over dead bodies? If he was so intent on contributing to the Hunger Games cause, he should've picked something more... chipper than touching up the dead with guys like me.

To each their own I guess... it's not like I can ask him why he works here without being a hypocrite and wondering why _I _work here. The job itself doesn't make sense until you read the reports of the 'lack of appreciation' the Districts had when their tributes were returned to them as bloodied lumps in wooden boxes.

Part of me thinks it's because they think that us scientists stitching up their children care about them enough to do because we care about that 'appreciation'. While I'm not heartless enough to say that I don't, I'm not going to say that when I see a dead body I feel grief for the life lost. Once they're dead, they're just another badly battered body to make me feel uneasy.

-Sometimes I prefer it when the tributes jump from the plate, even though their death is still horrifying. It simply means the remains are disposed of in such a way that the family doesn't expect anything from us, stitched up or otherwise. But when they're mauled by an Alpha Bear like that boy was last night, they tend to want the body back- and by law we aren't allowed to send him back in anything less than a 'presentable' fashion.

...Felix took care of him for me as well. I've done shockingly little this Quell, aside from filling out these medical supplies order forms. While Felix made sure to pat me on the shoulder and assure me that he doesn't mind taking care of the corpse work, it's impossible, I just can't help but feel like I'm pawning work off on the guy.

Sighing, I let the pen lie still on the paper again as I recollect my jumbled thoughts, pushing out the guilt that has begun to plague me all over again.

At least he got to leave for some fun on the city. If anyone deserves a break and some well earned good fortune- and if I'm not allowed to be selfish- it has _got_ to be Felix.

...although... I sigh again, the heel of my palm sinking into my cheek as I slump over my desk-

"...it would be nice if I had some good luck once in a while too..."

* * *

I must have left the television on when I left for work this morning, because when I open the door to my apartment I can hear the familiar voice of CapitolNet laughing merrily throughout the front hallway. I recognise the sound of Varro Vociferor, my least favourite of the Capitol Presenters, barking about 'what a disappointment of a second day we've had'.

One can only guess that means that no one else has died since that boy was sent into work early this morning. Breathing a sigh of relief, this means that I won't have to expect any horrible mutilations waiting for me when I clock in tomorrow. Not that I shouldn't count out the chance that someone might die while I'm finally getting some rest.

"-we've been getting a lot of calls from some very disappointed fans of Miss Saint-Claire! 'Is there a single good reason why she hasn't taken off that tight little hooded top yet?' one Mr. X has sent in." I cringe as Varro laughs riotously at the sender's question, "Keep it to yourself pervert! Although I know you're not the only one out there hoping for Mr Sykora to do what we've all been fantasising. Isn't that right folks~?"

A roar escapes the television audience, and I slump into my lounger in front of the television while wondering if that is real laughter or the canned sort they use for television shows. Personally I've never found Varro funny; he reminds me too much of the boys back at school who would hang me by the shoestrings from the steam pipes in the boy's locker room.

"Here's another one-" The presenter pulls out another question card from off-screen. "Ahaha- however _this one _is wondering why Mr. Sykora hasn't shed anything yet. Well, I can certainly see which alliance is the favourite for those closeted perverts of ours. Don't worry folks, I'm just teasing- you're gorgeous-!"

There's a reason this show is popular, I just can't tell what that reason might possibly be. To me, Varro Vociferor is loud, obnoxious and an all round irritant to watch. Not a single late-night show of CapitolNet will go by without him highlighting all the 'racy' moments of that day's game. Apparently if one watches television past eleven o'clock, they're looking for pornography and aren't simply arriving home late.

Honestly I prefer young 'Flickerman' woman, Idola Flickerman. However she's the official presenter for the Hunger Games, so her role on these late night television shows has diminished somewhat so her stage performances will be more powerful.

I sort of wish that Varro got the part instead. Then I could enjoy coming home to Idola kindly welcoming me back and catching me up on today's events.

...being lonely is terrible.

Varro lets out a low whistle. "So how about- now that we're done with confessing our hopes for clothes to hit the dirt- we take a quick look at today in the games?"

Here we go- the highlights of today. I lean in a little as the screen grows a tagline that reads 'The 125th Hunger Games- Day 2' and then the camera begins recapping the 'important' events I missed while I was at work.

First I see how those two corpses ended up on Felix's table. The first is the girl who had been almost shredded by the time she arrived. Britney Frailer lies on a piece of crag, elevated in the sky only by the thorny rose vines that made up the dome around the cornucopia. She struggles to breathe, gripping with her ruined hands at the duffel bag she made it away with, as a darkened shadow moves swift through the night.

A scream sounds, and then thrashing. It drives into her chest, digging for the girl's heart as she shrieks for help- pounding at the thing as its sharp talons pierce and cut off her arm- but soon the girl from 9 falls silent as the blood that fountains out of her begins to slow down to a steady dribble. The beast, maw full of her forearm- lets her fall- and she clangs skull first into the cornucopia, terrifying the girl who rests there as her body smacks to the ground below.

Then it's the boy. I already heard from the security guard how this one died, but that doesn't make it any less sickening to watch. As a doctor and a scientist, I can tell exactly what happens to the boy as it happens.  
First the bear and its mammoth paw slams all its weight onto his abdomen- shattering it, as well as any hopes he had of running. Then, as the boy thrashes upright for the last time- the bear grabs his head in its jaw, clamping down with a bone-breaking force that punctures through the boy's eye. His scream quietens faster than the girl from 9's, presumably because his body shuts down because of the excessive pain he is undoubtedly in.

-the camera follows two groups from the scene of the crime. The first is the boy's allies, who run for their lives away from the Alpha bear, turning around only when they know it is safe. The other is the pair from 3, who I have almost been rooting for with their sweet natures. After the boy vomits, undoubtedly from fear and the strenuous running, and the girl cradles him for a moment- they begin again at a walk, and the camera abandons them for a new target.

"-so those are our only deaths for today, but the living can be more entertaining than the dead..."

It begins again with the sun breaking the horizon, surrounded by some ominous looking red clouds. Apparently the morning wasn't too action packed, aside from the girl from 8 taking a tumble into one of the ice caverns which had gone undiscovered until this point. But as the day progresses, it becomes clear that the sponsors are finally dipping into their funds and helping their kids.

Vince, the boy from 11 who has the highest kill count so far, _and _is the youngest in the arena, watches with a horrible smirk as the little parachute floats down into his lap. Holding aloft the darts and blowgun, he flashes his middle finger up at the sky and snickers quietly to himself.

Not exactly a nice boy, by the looks of it.

Fortune has certainly smiled on my favourite pair from 3, because they receive not one, not two- but _three _gifts from the watchers. Francesca squeals with delight and scoops up the wrapped packages of sandwiches- generously portioned, so they probably cost a bit- and Holland holds two small containers of juice to the sky with a look of disbelief.

"_Is this really for us?_" He whispers slowly, as if not daring to believe this good luck for even a moment. "_I-I mean, we're not careers..._"

Francesca throws her arms around him and hugs him tightly around the shoulders. "_They believe in us Holly! Just like I told you they would!_"

As the third gift floats down from the sky, they both watch in wonder as the gleaming hunting blade softly falls upon the earth in front of them. Rather than brightening their spirits however, their faces fall as they remember that surviving is more than just staying well fed and watered.

"_...we... we needed something to defend ourselves with Holly. This is a good thing._"

Holland picks up the blade and holds it carefully in his hands. While his friend chooses to busy herself by unwrapping the packaging around one of the sandwiches- he stares dejectedly down at the shining metal.

"_...good thing..._"

They're not the only ones who the audience favoured with gifts today apparently, because a similar moment happens to the pop-star and her male companion. While they take a break from some scouting, the little silver parachute floats down, and Ari Saint-Claire barely contains her gasp of surprise as the large helpings of stew, lidded in white plastic, land with a soft 'pat' on the ground.

"_We have more sponsors,_" Ari whispers breathlessly, cupping her hands around one of the bowls for warmth. "_I can't believe it..._"

Laco glances up. "_Then you're definitely not going to believe what's coming down now Ari._"

This time she lets out a soft yelp. A bottle of water, at least a litre or so in size, clunks to the forest floor beside the soup; more than enough to keep them hydrated for at least several days. But even I watch in astonishment as the final gift falls to the ground, heavily wrapped in sturdy leather.

"_...what's... what's that...?_"

The pair of tributes approaches it cautiously, as if it may be a trap mixed in with their supplies. Laco doesn't let Ari reach for it, and instead holds it up carefully and pulls the silver parachute off the item.  
As the gleaming silver bow and the quiver of arrows come into sight of the cameras- Ari begins to shake with uncontrollable excitement.

"_Oh my god... oh my god-!_" She throws her arms around her partner, squealing with happiness. "_Is this happening? Thank you- thank you whoever sent this-!_"

As the girl examines the new weapon with a tangible eagerness, the boy watches her fondly whilst holding the water canister. Then, as if she had forgotten and had only just remembered, the girl drops the bow and pulls the boy towards her into a spontaneous kiss, causing him to drop the bottle and throw his arms around her as well.

No doubt they never thought they'd have so much luck, or such wealthy fans.

While this is happening, the girl from 4 practices shooting. They skip over a lot of this, no doubt because it isn't good television. She misses a stag and the arrow skips along the ground. Letting out a cry of frustration as the beast leaps away, Minerva Nanaia reaches forwards for the fallen arrow, but instead stumbles back as the silver drifts into her view.

There'll be no need for her to hunt for today. She opens the lidded container to find a still steaming baked chicken, and- throwing away all lady-like manners, immediately tears of a leg dripping with fat and begins to bite at it ravenously.

Watching her makes me feel a little hungry. The girl eats with a gusto that shows she was doing her best to hide the hunger that had no doubt been plaguing her.

"_Thank you. Thank you._" She whispers between mouth-filled bites. "_Thank you so much._"

Tears stream down her face as she strips the meat off the bone, not caring for the grease that coats her fingers.

I feel my stomach twist in disappointment as Varro takes over the screen again, recapping the distance that some of the tributes have covered and several of the high-wagering bets currently in circulation. I guess that's all the gifts that were given today. The prices will go up soon, so no doubt these gifts that bring tributes smiles and tears will begin to stop altogether as time goes on.

Varro interrupts with a loud, "-I don't know who's going to bet on that happening though. I mean, the odds are practically a hundred to one-!"

Sponsoring isn't something I do. After all, I may have money, but not enough to spare on a child who might soon be dying. It sounds selfish even to think it, so I do my best not to.

Felix likes to sponsor children though. Surprisingly he tends to have a good eye for the tribute that'll come out a victor. This year his money is on a volunteer boy from District 6, which he says he 'has a really good feelin' abou', y'know?'

Not really. I turn the television down so Varro's laugh won't irritate me as I try to sleep- and wander into my room, deciding it'd be best that I try and sleep now so I won't feel like death upon awakening.

As I get changed into my flannel pyjamas however, my mind is plagued with thoughts of who will next end up on that operating table at work. Will that pop-star survive now that she has that glimmering bow? What about that devilish little boy and his blowgun? And the pair from 3 that I find myself so fond of... or Felix's favourite from 6? What of them?

...and... just like all the others... will they be nothing but cold corpses to me...?

Nestling my head into the pillow, I feel the exhaustion that dogged me all day finally throw all its weight upon me like a down blanket, and as I drift off into an unpleasant sleep, I find myself thinking about it again...

...I don't know why I work this job. I _really_ don't.

Just unfortunate... I guess.

* * *

**Capitol Question #020; as a secret admirer, how would you go about making your affections known? E.g. Romantic poems, love letters, little presents etc.**

**Special Event #002: can you think of any 'portmanteau' names for any pairings you like in 'the Capitol Games'? (**Crack/Slash pairings are completely acceptable**)**

**(Remember, Special Events are worth 10 points, and I will choose the most entertaining answer myself from those given. Only one person will win. If only one person answers, they win by default.)**


	46. Feelings of Betrayal

**A Vivid Note: **I'm doing my best to portion out these games properly. If I had it my way, there'd be a _lot _of deaths all at once, but that would waste several wonderful plot points and be a little tedious in the long run. This way is much more fun. However, as we approach chapter 60, the death rate will pick up before slowing down again. Just warning you now.  
Ah, and don't bite your nails, no one dies this chapter. All the little loves are doing well... or, at least they're still _alive_.

Quick shout-out to _LittleSpark_ who did a beautiful rendition of Liotta on her deviantArt! She's a fantastic artist, and seeing her bring Liotta into form made my jaw drop. It was really inspiring!

The winner of the second '**Special Event**' is announced at the bottom of this chapter. Thank you to those who attempted the question. I very much enjoyed the portmanteaus!  
By the way, you don't need to ask to be a sponsor, haha, just make sure you've reviewed/answered a question a few times and have enough points to send in something. The price _will _be going up shortly, so those of you who want to get things in before the price is hiked up- get moving.

**Capitol Question #21; do you believe that you would be able to correctly judge a tribute's character were you in the arena?**

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Vince Pace; 12 years; the Capitol Sector 11._

It's bloody freezing in this damn forest tonight. I can tell that they've purposefully made it this biting because the hooded jacket is doing nothing to ward off this sudden cold front. For one reason or another, the Gamemakers have decided that it's time for some 'fun with the weather'.

While I was initially fine with this forecast change, hiding out in the small hole I had dug amongst the roots of these giant trees, the moment rain began to sprinkle down through the heavy ceiling of the forest I couldn't keep from scowling. _Shit_. I've been surviving this far without eating, waiting for some unwary tribute to stumble my way, content that I'd at least be kept safe from view in my dug-out.

Now I'm staring into the once dry pit as it slowly pools with the muddy rainwater, fighting hard against the urge to stab my hunting knife into the dirt just to release some of this frustration.

"_Great_," I mutter. "Thanks Gamemakers, just when I was getting thirsty_._"

When I'm done with these Games, and my mother's intestines are spread across our kitchen floor, I'm going to make a point to paint the streets with Gamemaker blood. If they'd just wait and let me do what I want, I'll give them the torturous show that they so crave. But _no_, they want to speed up the process by turning the elements against the lot of us.

How little patience do those dolts have?

Standing out in the cold and beginning to shiver, I glance around darkly. My hunger is starting to set in, rumbling in my stomach like some sort of growling beast. If it weren't for the steady trickling of the rain all around, it might be something that could give away my position to nearby competitors.

'_There's no way to get food though_,' I think, irritated. '_Sure, I could shoot at something with a poison dart- but then what? Dig my teeth into its uncooked feathers or fur? Besides, the damn poison might spread to the best bits quicker than I think, making the stupid thing inedible anyway..._'

What I need is a sponsor to swoop in miraculously with some aid, but after my display of slaughtering Liotta and Sapphire yesterday, I doubt Ava is in any rush to help me in comparison to the ever vapid Cotton, who no doubt is mooching off the cornucopia with her fellow pathetic career substitutes.  
I wasn't expecting anything from sponsors honestly. I knew a few might have put pity money on me to begin with, but that pity no doubt died alongside those two girls. When the blowgun and the poison darts floated down from above, I was pleasantly surprised. Apparently there are some viewers out there who _like _the idea of a younger victor.

In the heat of the moment I couldn't help but flash my middle finger at the sky. Not at my sponsors, but at my mother who was no doubt hoping I would receive no help in this Game- and thereby die off before I can come home and kill her.  
No doubt she'll keep entertaining that hope until those final sixteen cannons sound and I leave here a victor. I wonder if my brothers and sisters are holding onto that stupid idea as well. I know that Janie probably is, thinking I'm now the Anti-Christ for killing someone, and Peter has probably found out through school what has happened.

Bliss however... I'll be able to count on her to support me throughout all this. I could skin some alive and her opinion of me wouldn't change. Picturing her round pale face framed with black curls makes me smile slightly; the first smile in these Games not to be out of contempt.  
She kept my pocket warm last night, with the forged note she found years ago. While I know that it wasn't my father who wrote the suicide note- that it was my cowardly mother trying to cover her tracks- it gives me a sense of purpose to this massacre; vengeance.

Although I'd be happy enough to win this without a purpose, it's just that fighting with a reason tucked inside my pocket is somehow much more enjoyable.

However a reason doesn't equal food, and I'm sure that unless I find a way to stock up for the coming days, I'm not going to have the energy to survive- let alone kill.  
This is where having an alliance would be helpful. Of course I'm not saying that Liotta and Sapphire would have been helpful as an alliance- that would be a gross miscalculation. Girls like that would've cried and wailed about getting hungry before the first sunset.

...but, as I sit on the muddy ground- contemplating my choices as the rain slows into a gentle trickle, I can't come up with any real options. Of course, I don't _truly_ want to be in an alliance. After all, I'm in this to win. Allegiances to other tributes only slow down my course. Stealing however could be a feasible choice, but- as stupid as the remaining tributes are- some of them are undoubtedly faster and stronger than I am, they could cause me some trouble.

Still, thinking of those two options together has given me an idea.

Abandoning my hiding place once and for all, since I doubt that even once it has dried out it'll be of anymore use to me, I set out to do what few tributes do. Somewhere nearby there is bound to be at least a few tributes ripe for the picking. If I can't kill them, I'll feign innocence. It was easy enough to fool all of Panem- how hard can it be to swindle some sappy teenagers into believing I'm _so terrified _of being alone?

Lovingly fingering my blowgun, my body wells up in a tangible pleasure at how well everything is going for _poor, defenceless _Vincent Pace. To believe that I was once so sour at being so young in years~!

I should've known it was a blessing in disguise.

* * *

_Brandit Gailer; 16 years; the Capitol Sector_

"It's really coming down out there." Cotton whispers, snuggled under Vinel's arm.

The moment the thunder began rumbling, the four of us retreated inside the mouth of the cornucopia with the perishable supplies. Vinel and Cotton seem to have reconciled since the first day, and are tightly knitted together for warmth with a thin grey blanket draped over their legs. Natalia however is perched just inside the mouth, as if the moment it stops raining she'll spring outside again.

"Who cares," mutters Natalia bitingly. "It's just the Gamemakers showing off. Hopefully some of the idiots will drown or something."

Ah Natalia. I can't help but smile as she purposely faces away from us all. She's trying so hard to be the strongest of the group, to be the unquestioned leader. While I'm sure Cotton and Vinel don't appreciate her attitude, I think it's admirable, charming even. Sure, this cold edge seems to come naturally to her, but after our short time together I can tell that underneath she's really a determined girl who just wants to return home to her mother.

Not that I'll call her out on that. This is her strategy, and I can respect that. It's easier to survive these games when you don't put your real self into them to be slaughtered inside and out.

Shivering, Cotton buries her head in Vinel's chest. "There haven't been any cannons in a while. They must be planning something big."

"Who's to say that this storm isn't the 'big' something?" Vinel asks, leaning his head atop her Cotton's messy hair. "Maybe the arena is going to flood."

While that is a possibility, I'm secretly with Natalia as she snorts at the idea. Flooding the arena is a common tactic used to kill off a bulk of tributes all at once, and from what I can see from the arena and this year's games so far- Iilvsea Crane doesn't seem to like being 'common'.

No, this storm is probably just to switch things up a bit for the viewers. After all, it already has hasn't it? Without the rain the four of us would've no doubt camped on opposite sides of the cornucopia- rather than squished up _inside _it.  
I don't really mind. The cornucopia is quite roomy inside and I only have to slightly bend my head to fit inside. Vinel and Cotton are sitting at the back where the empty space coils into the tail- which is also hollow apparently- while I've chosen to take up the middle portion and Natalia has decided to sit at the very front.

It's almost as if we all have our own little space.

"You guys feel free to sleep whenever you want; we're not going on the attack tonight." Natalia says suddenly, not even looking back at us as she says this. "Hopefully the rain will do our job for us."

As convincing an actor she can be, I think Vinel and I both know the real reason we're not heading out there again. The death of Jasse is still too fresh and real in her mind. To head out there again so soon would be like reliving the moment where the bear's paw lashed down upon our ex-comrade's legs.  
Vinel told Cotton what happened, but only briefly. After they dragged away Britney's body and we were settling down to rest for the day, Cotton finally asked where our fifth member was.

We let Vinel do the talking. Naturally Cotton was slightly rattled by the news that an ally had been killed, but it didn't take long for the news of Jasse's death to just fade away into obscurity. It became apparent that, while we were allies, Jasse had been the least talkative of the lot of us. While it was sad he was gone, it was a little depressing how easily his presence disappeared from the group.

On Natalia's suggestion, Vinel and Cotton decide to settle down and sleep for the night. While it's obvious from the several sparse whispers I hear that for the first few hours they're not asleep, but eventually the whispers end and the cornucopia vibrates with the gentle rumbling of Vinel's snores.  
Glancing at the pair of them, I feel the corners of my lips tilt up. If someone were looking at the pair of them, they'd assume they really were boyfriend and girlfriend- and not a pair of unfortunate teens in a game to the death.

"Bet the camera loves those two."

Apparently Natalia's still awake. I had begun to think our watch guard had fallen asleep with her arms wrapped around her knees. I look sideways and catch her staring at me with narrowed eyes.

Shrugging, I settle down a little in this golden cave. "That's a good thing isn't it? After all, if they're sent supplies- we share them equally don't we?"

"...yeah... but I wouldn't feel good about it..." Natalia murmurs, looking away and resting her chin upon her knees. "It's like they're rewarding the tribute couples... I think it's stupid..."

Parts of her words seem forced, like a bitter child after being scolded. I grin a little and contain my laughter as the strong leader of ours has her little pouting session at the mouth of the cornucopia.  
Since she's being so childish, I make the decision to drag myself next to her, sitting with my legs out in the cold. While the dome cuts out a lot of the breeze, it's still pretty cold out tonight with a few of the raindrops infiltrating the dome and running down the curves of our golden horn.

"So why don't you think couples shouldn't be rewarded?" I rest my head on my hand, keeping a firm gaze on Natalia's sour expression.

She wasn't expecting me to ask that. Her eyes flick to me for a microsecond before looking away again as she answers- "It's just stupid, okay? Being sponsored just because some idiot kisses you... those girls should be humiliated..."

This time the snickering escapes before I can stop it. I recoil instinctively as Natalia glares knives in my direction. Grinning weakly, I wave my hands frantically in front of my face.

"H-Hey, don't get mad at me-" I open my eyes and see that her venomous expression has faded back into annoyance. "I just thought what you said was a bit funny since I've never heard anyone have that opinion before. Alright?"

I can tell from the look in her eyes that she's mildly pissed at being laughed at, but she just shrugs and looks away. Under the tiny amount of light, I see her injured cheek and the blue gemstones glinting in the darkness.

Without really thinking, I reach forwards and brush a fingertip against her cheek.

Instead of reacting how I guessed she would, Natalia freezes in place, her eyes wide with alarm.

"Wh... what are you doing?"

Retracting my hand slowly, I maintain our gaze and smile slightly at the warmth I meet there. All is quiet except for the gentle drumming of the rain above our heads as I ask-

"So if I tried to kiss you now, would you be humiliated?"

Natalia stares back at me, suddenly a little shaky. Her eyes dart to her lap as she struggles to form a sentence. "I-I..."

Waving a hand, I laugh quietly. "Don't go getting all worried, I was just joking. I thought it'd be nice to see you get flustered for a change."

Suddenly without warning, Natalia's arm jumps out at me and smacks me onto my back. Before I can even let out a groan, she throws the blanket keeping her legs warm onto my face and hisses frantically-

"G-Go to bed you idiot, before you piss me off-!"

Blinking, I wonder if I might have struck a nerve I shouldn't have with my teasing. Face red with embarrassment, Natalia stares out into the darkness- doing her best to ignore me as I slowly curl up under the blanket still warm from her body heat.

...even if I made her angry... it _was _nice to see such a headstrong girl get flustered... if even for a moment.

After all... turns out she's kind of cute when she's embarrassed...

* * *

_Faye-Anna Cholores; 14 years; the Capitol Sector 6._

Ever since I was little I've been a bit of a night owl, curling under the blankets with one of my 'un-Capitol regulated' books with the warm glow of torchlight to accompany me until the sun rose and my eyes were burnt out from reading.  
That was an entirely different experience to the one happening now though. There is no comforting light to read by, no cuddly blanket or well-worn book to read. Instead there's darkness, rain and moist dirt beneath my aching feet- the only warmth being from Ferroh's hand protectively holding mine.

While we had a lot of luck today, finding a stream of uncontaminated water and some grass I deemed non-poisonous after seeing a rabbit that was too quick for us nibbling on a patch, Ferroh and I haven't had the luxury of settling down for the day.  
Neither of us thought it would be a good idea to camp near the water source. After all, it's where all the animals must drink from, and I highly doubt that all of them are fluffy bunnies and shy fawns. There have been some giant trees torn up by what must be bears using them as scratching posts, and as strong as Ferroh might be with our hunting knife- I don't think he could take on a bear.

"We'll keep moving until some of these trees stop looking so worn out," Ferroh mutters as he glances back at me. "But we can take breaks if you're feeling tired."

Sometimes I feel a bit like a living Raggedy-Ann doll, being dragged around by Ferroh and not helping him with anything. Yet he continues to care about my wellbeing like this, so I nod gratefully and try not to slow down as the mud sticks to our boots.

Out of all the other tributes, I bet that we seem like the weirdest alliance. Our little storytelling session from yesterday probably sparked some horrible comments from the peanut gallery of Panem. A seventeen year old lulling his fourteen year old ally to sleep with a story. Part of me just wants to find a camera and say 'grow up!', but I know that it would just seem stupid in the long run.

-Also that and I have a funny feeling that some things are edited out of the Games. I have no proof of that, but it doesn't seem that wild a guess. After all, I know for a fact that there are people in charge of editing and _destroying _books- there's not that big of a jump between that sort of censorship and tweaking parts out of the Hunger Games.  
How many of those sad children screamed obscenities at the cameras without my knowing? Sometimes the final footage a child dying will have a loud ringing from the cannon when they're clearly still moving and howling.

But if that really is an example of Gamemakers editing the Hunger Games _live_, I have to give them some credit. Maybe there's a trick to knowing when someone is about to debase your country on live television so you know when to drown them out with cannon fire...

"_Stop._"

Almost tumbling over Ferroh's arm- I find myself being caught by him just in time to stop me lurching head over heels into the mud. Slowly, Ferroh backs into a tree, holding my back close to his chest as we wait in silence. I'm in a panic- wondering what on earth he heard while I was lost in my mind- but before I can completely lose myself in the trepidation- I hear it.

Something slipping and splattering through the mud, in long, uneven strokes. Its breath rattles loudly through the dark, and then a voice curses. I begin to tremble, terrified of who it might be, but Ferroh places a single finger against his lips and gently shushes me.

"_..._I don't think_... _he's aware of us_._"

In a voice so hushed that over the rain would be impossible to hear, I whisper back. "How can you be sure_...?_"

The person begins to cough. It's long and painful sounding, and Ferroh takes this chance to peek around the tree towards the struggling tribute. I don't dare to look. As he pins his back against the tree again, he turns me slightly and mouths a single number.

_Twelve._

For a moment I don't understand. Twelve? Then I remember our Sectors- and with the knowledge of Sapphire's death- that can only leave her bronze colored Sector partner that she had disliked so much. I don't remember him too much, because Sapphire really painted him to be a real self-absorbed jerk. How much of that was true, I don't know, since he apparently didn't go along with the career alliance he was offered...

"...rain... rain_..._"

His voice, while rough from what's probably been days without water. Unlike Ferroh and me he probably hasn't been using berries and wet morning grasses to keep himself going until he finds the water source. I can hear a splatter of what might be his feet stumbling in the mud- followed by more obscenities.

Ferroh squeezes my shoulder. "We should go. In case he sobers up."

Comparing a person on the verge of dying of thirst to a drunken person seems a little heartless, but I can see where he's coming from. Who knows what someone that desperate might do. While I'm sure the rain will help him get back onto his feet, it won't take effect right away. We'd just be asking for trouble trying to reach out to him.  
...that and... I'm a little worried that Sapphire was right when she called him all those awful things. How she described him as such an arrogant person who was considered to be part of the 'Capitol-Career' team... I don't want to find out if she was lying or not.

To make sure we make less noise and fewer footprints, Ferroh hoists me onto his back again as he had at the party, and we slowly begin to move again. Holding tightly around his shoulders, I finally risk a glance at the male tribute from 12, knowing that this will more than likely be the last time I ever see him again.

As he kneels in the mud facing the opposite direction, I only catch a glimpse of the bright red hair I remember. His back heaves up and down with effort while he fumbles in the slushy earth for his fallen water bottle. I bite my lip and watch as he throws his head back and drinks the tiny amount of water in the canister.

-in the dark where his eyes can't see us, I catch a final first glimpse of Julian Farraday's eyes and push myself right against Ferroh in horror.

Wide and staring, his crazed turquoise eyes no longer seem to see at all anymore. Rather, they're blank and empty- like a dead person still struggling to live on without the sustenance.

And suddenly, my lifetime of bulimia terrifies me. Closing my eyes, I rest my head against Ferroh's shoulder and make a promise to myself, thinking of nothing but that dying Sector partner of Sapphire's.

_'I'll never waste food or water again._'

* * *

_Marshall Matthews; 14 years; the Capitol Sector 2._

No one has spoken for hours. When the anthem began and the three of us looked up at the sky to see who the mystery two who had died yesterday night, none of us expected to see Monty's Sector partner lit up in the sky.

My mouth had sagged open a little when I saw her picture staring down through the gap in the canopy. "...isn't that...?"

But Monty wouldn't answer. It was obvious that some part of him had pitied Britney, and knowing she was dead must have been a huge blow to his subconscious. Diego and I somehow knew to respect his desire not to talk about it, allowing our comrade to spend the night in mourning.  
Diego could understand his feelings a bit better than I could, having a nice female Sector partner himself. Had I seen _my _Sector partner's face light up the night sky I probably would've let out a whoop of laughter.

At no point had Monty brought up Britney, although that was probably because none of us had asked him about her. I hadn't really seen them communicating before the games began- but they didn't seem to have any negative energy between them. Maybe he was hoping that she would last until the end and they'd both meet up again.

Monty went to bed shortly after that. With the way that Diego didn't bother to talk about his guard duty- I'm just going to go ahead and assume that we'll both share his shift between us and let him deal with the death of Britney.  
Technically I should go to bed now since Diego is on watch first, but something in me wants to talk this out and I know that Diego is better at figuring the hard stuff out than I am.

Standing up and leaving Monty alone in his sleeping bag amongst the tree roots, I sit beside Diego and stare out into the forest before us. There's still a tiny bit of light left, but not enough to really travel in. Sounds of the forest surround us, the creek we've been following, the odd trill of some night dwelling creature- and the sound of our own breathing.

Knowing that I'll have to start this conversation, I decide to not beat around the bush and start it plainly. "It must be hard for Monty to see her of all people up there."

"...yes." Diego says plainly. "It is unfortunate."

While he no doubt sounds stiff, I can tell that Diego does genuinely give a care. It's obvious from the way he stands with Monty that he really trusts the guy. Monty told me that he chose Diego over Natalia's career alliance after spending some time with the lovable giant, and that's part of why _I _decided to hang out with these two.

"Seven have died," Diego begins solemnly. "Soon we will be halfway towards the final eight."

Eh? Oh yeah, that's right- we're almost at the halfway mark. I completely forgot about that. Once there's only eight left they'll send someone out to our houses to conduct interviews with the surviving tributes' families.  
An image of my father sitting on the couch with a microphone pointed in his face makes my grin twitch a little. No doubt he's getting worried that I'm actually coming back to fulfil my promise.

Stretching, I crack my finger joints and yawn. "Who do you think will go next then D?"

It's a new nickname for him, since Montserrat has Monty and I have Marsh'.

"I do not really know," In an out of character moment, Diego twinges. "I do not really want to think about it."

Ah. Yikes, probably shouldn't have said anything. Quietly laughing awkwardly, I find myself swirling a finger in the dirt to detract from the guilt I currently feel.

"Sorry. Forget I asked."

But not even a second passes before Diego sighs, and in a move that stuns me- pushes a hand through his black hair and clenches his eyes shut.

"I want to find Koriana."

Slightly taken aback, I answer a little blankly. "Well, we can do that... why didn't you say anything sooner?"

"It is a selfish thing to ask," The giant sinks into himself. "I did not want to bother you or Montserrat with it. Koriana also made it quite clear she wanted to fight alone."

Hearing that doesn't surprise me in the least. She certainly seemed like that kind of girl. But Diego is being so bashful about this that even I'm finding it hard not to coo and call him adorable. He certainly makes me look like a 'Grade A' jerk in comparison.

"Dude, you should've said something," I punch him as lightly as possible in the shoulder, wondering if he can even feel it. "We can go searching for her tomorrow. She seemed like the kind of girl who'd follow the streams too, don't you think?"

Although, I don't really know what kind of girl Koriana is- so I'm just guessing. Still, this makes Diego relax a little and a rather warm smile grows across his face.

"Thank you... Marshall..."

With nothing left to say, Diego looks out into the forest again- but this time his eyes are hopeful. Almost as if Kori' is going to come bounding out of the darkness because we've made the decision to watch out for her.  
Stranger things have happened I guess. She _is _out there after all. I take a moment to think about where she might have gotten to, and where everyone else is in this crazy place.

I return back to my sleeping bag and zip it up to my chest to lock out the cold as my mind tries to remember all the tributes that are still alive. No doubt Natalia is out there with her careers, that pair from 3 is running about together, Ari Saint-Claire is hiding out with her Sector partner and the other stragglers are spread far and thin.

Odds are... I won't be able to see all of them again. But... hopefully... we'll run into a few friendly faces before it's too late.

* * *

_Francesca Bardot; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 3._

Holland's tribute jacket is a little too big on me. I insisted we switch after he began to get a bit ill knowing that the sleeves were soaked with his own sick. Surprisingly my jacket fit _him _quite nicely, which might have embarrassed him a little to hear.  
Having vomit on my clothes doesn't bother me. It stopped bothering me after waking up a _few _too many times in puddles of the stuff. So when Holland and I huddle together for the night under the shelter of some rock formations- since it has gotten way too dark to keep moving- I tell him not to worry if the dirtied sleeves happen to touch my face.

"But that's so... that's so _gross_." He says, nose wrinkling.

"No it's not," I giggle, patting the dried sleeve against my cheek. "If it was crap or something maybe, but it's not. It's just stomach acid and spit."

Holland looks at me with disbelief. "So that's the line, poop is disgusting but vomit is _totally fine._"

"Uh-huh!"

Putting his face into his hands, Holland cries a little as I hug my knees and grin uncontrollably. Even when we're talking about something as silly as this, I can still manage to find happiness in it. After the horrible incident of last night, today has made up for it completely. The sandwiches filled out stomaches, we quenched a little of our thirsts and we _still _have supplies to last us for the next few days.

As far as things go, I think we're doing very well. The only way it could be better would be if we were home, but even that would have a downside. Holland and I probably wouldn't be hanging out for one.

"Chess, I know you're a big partier- but how can you be okay with... with _puke_?" Holland looks up from his hands and looks pleadingly at me. "At the party it didn't seem to bother you at all when I... when I got sick."

The party seems like so long ago. It went by so quickly it could've been a dream, if it weren't for the napkin with Mars hair wrapped up inside it stashed inside the cup of my bra.

"I've told you before that I've been to loads of parties Holland, vomit is... like _spit _to me," I say, but Holland suddenly looks even more repulsed at the idea of saliva. "-oh lord, hahaha, you've got to be kidding me Holland- _saliva?_"

"I-I just don't like bodily fluids alright?" The boy cries hastily, shaking his head frantically from side to side. "Go ahead and call me a girl- they're just something I've never been comfortable with-!"

But I can't help it. I giggle uncontrollably as Holland goes red in the face and puffs up like an angry kitten. Wiping tears from my eyes, I grin cheekily up at him as I prepare my pre-mortem one-liner. And, with perfect delivery, I chime-

"You're going to have a very _boring _sex life then!"

It doesn't happen right away, but when it does the effect is disastrous. Holland's eyes spark open, and his mouth blares wide with an appalled cry. I shake with uncontrollable silent laughter as my friend grabs me by the shoulders and pushes me over into a tussle.

"Take it back-!" Holland whispers as I squeal and pummel fists into his chest. "That's a horrible thing to say-!"

"Never!"

Making noise is a stupid thing to do in the Games, but right now I really couldn't care less. To spend the entirety of these Games slinking around not making a peep would be death to me. Let me spend what might be the remainder of my life making myself and the audience laugh. I'm sure that even Charlie, who has no doubt been nerve-wracked watching the Games, would be able to giggle at this.

Our rolling about in the dirt eventually ends with the pair of us sprawled out on our backs, gasping for breath. I'm flushed in the face from laughing so hard, and I can hear Holland heaving a little from the effort it must've took to keep me from pinning him down and tickling him.

"Best... two out of three?" He breathes, looking sideways at me, smiling weakly.

Poking my tongue out, I answer. "Not a chance. I win."

With that, I curl onto my side and nuzzle my head under Holland's arm. Perhaps he was anticipating another attack, because he goes stiff before relaxing and coiling up with me. We already learned not to be too weird about having to sleep so close, because that's the only way to survive the nights in this forest. It gets much too cold not to cuddle up together.

At no point was it an issue for me, but I could tell Holland was a little reserved about it. He does seem like the kind of boy who takes closeness with a girl seriously. It's almost jarring since it's been a long time since I felt that way.

...I wonder what Holland would say... if I told him all about my past experiences. He'd probably be grossed out, I guess. Even though we're friends, there are some things friends never really want to know.

Thinking about that makes me feel a little ashamed, which isn't something I readily feel. As much as I enjoy the party lifestyle... it has destroyed any values I might have held. For one, I won't be able to wear white on my wedding without someone making a snide comment, and there _might _be a chance I have an eating disorder I've been masking with those ipecac drinks...

But the one thing I miss most is that naive idea I had when I was _really _little that true love happens like in fairy tales. A princess in a pretty dress locks eyes with a prince in a nice suit, and they're whisked away to live happily ever after.

"...hey... Holly...?"

Some time has passed, but I know he's awake. His heartbeat hasn't slowed into a natural rhythm yet. Sure enough, he answers with a small murmur of consciousness.

Staring into the fabric of my jacket keeping him warm, I contemplate what I want to ask him. Whether or not he thinks there's a boy out there willing to take someone as damaged as me. Or if fairy tales are real and that on some level I _am _a princess and my happily ever after is waiting for me. And if, somewhere inside him, he's like me and is starting to really not like these Games anymore...

...

...But I close my eyes. And my feeble questions fall apart as I mumble quietly-

"...goodnight..."

* * *

_Cotton Ferier; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 11._

I haven't felt this warm and safe since I was little, snuggled up by the fireplace at Christmas Eve with my sisters and Moose when he was a puppy. We were like this big ball of body heat, snoozing in front of a fire as the snow piled up outside and Mom and Dad quietly placed the presents under the tree.  
It's been a long time since I thought of those days. Ever since Dad left to be with 'Fabio' I like to pretend that he never existed.

The way Vinel sort of rumbles when he exhales is so similar to the sound of Moose's snores it's uncanny. If I close my eyes I can almost pretend I'm seven again, wrapped up waiting for Santa.

-But I'm not that naive. There's no Santa coming tonight. It's not snowing outside and there's no fire to keep me warm or loving parents to keep me safe. I'm in the Hunger Games, and the only things keeping me safe are the stocks of weapons piled up inside the cornucopia with us.

Opening my eyes a crack, I peer out into the darkness to see that the sun is just beginning to rise and filter through the gaps in the rose vines. Soon Natalia will be forcing all of us awake and will have no doubt changed her mind since yesterday about the rain being a reason not to go hunting for tributes.  
She's predictable, but still a complete pain. I don't understand why she's taking this career thing so seriously anymore. At first I thought it was a good idea, since it would make us out to be the strongest competitors, but if we're running out into the forest to kill tributes and get killed like Jasse did- what's the point of _looking _strong when you aren't?

I'm glad I was left behind that night. While it upset me to be called the weakest and being stuck with staying behind with the supplies as Britney's mangled body crashed down from above- it did mean that I didn't have to watch an ally get mauled by what Vinel called 'a hairless bear'. I can't really picture it, but the look in everyone's eyes made me realise that it wasn't something I wanted to run into.

-And Vinel... he seemed to change last night. For the better I mean. It's not like I can prove it but... he just seems to be back to the way he was before he gave that bow to Minerva; someone I can trust again.

No doubt Natalia would never believe that, but I don't care. I saw the way she looked when we settled down to sleep last night. She's bitter, obviously, just a jealous, bitter girl.

What she doesn't know is that Vinel and I won't be around for her to boss around much longer.

Last night we talked. It was brief, and we had to be quiet, but all that needed to be said was said.

"_I want to leave, as soon as possible._"

When we first joined up for this 'career-pack' of Natalia's, I was under the impression it'd be a lot bigger. Natalia went around and asked practically every guy in the training centre- but I had no idea that so many had turned her down. Even her own Sector partner, the boy who scored the highest of all of us didn't want to join. That should've been a sign that this group of 'Capitol Careers' was doomed to fail.

But I guess I wanted to believe it would work. It seemed like the best way to win after all, since usually careers win the Hunger Games. I should've realised that there's no easy way to the Games.

"_Then let's leave. We'll ditch them the next time they go hunting._"

My entire being trembled with excitement. _Leave_. Watching careers do that to one another always sparked something amazing. Screams, fights- it's like a mutiny. And Vinel and I are going to do it, just like all those others did. I remember Antony Cross did that, the District 1 victor from two years ago. He _won._

Okay, lying here with Vinel makes it seem a lot easier than it will be- no doubt there's a good chance they'll realise what we're doing and try to chase after us, and I don't fancy myself in a fight with Brandit. Natalia though I think I could take. She's a little taller than me, but I'm faster. Years of cheerleading is aiding me well.

-_But it beats the alternative_. If we don't run away, I'd have two choices. One, stay here, oppressed by Natalia and her stupid delusions of power- only to be eventually killed when she loses that temper of hers- or try something risky like slitting her throat while she sleeps and then deal with Brandit.

...I dwell a little too long on the idea of drawing a blade across Natalia's neck and give a little shiver. Is killing someone really that easy? It doesn't seem like it, not with how it plays out in movies. Usually it's dramatic and the dying person gives a big long winded speech about all their regrets.

Ha. I bet Natalia has no regrets. She probably thinks she's completely in the right, treating me like shit and Vinel and Brandit like her bodyguards. I can't wait to leave her in the lurch by ditching her with Vinel. I almost wish I could see her face when it happens...

Beside me I feel Vinel stirring. I move a little as his arm stretches, but it wraps around my shoulder and pulls me into his side. Face flushing with happiness, I close my eyes and allow myself to cuddle into his warmth.

Just watch your pathetic plans crumble all around you Natalia. Without Vinel and I, what are you going to do? Where will you go? Will you stay here and rage as the vines keep you safe from attackers? Or will you push into the forest after us where all the other tributes are waiting?

Another pleasurable shiver runs through me.

Come tonight, let the Games really begin for you Natalia. I absolutely can't wait to see you running for your life.

* * *

**Capitol Question #21;**

The winner of **Special Event #002; can you think of any 'portmanteau' names for any pairings you like in 'the Capitol Games' **is _Claratrix LeChatham_.  
However special mentions go out to everyone who participated. I fucking love you all for your answers (and yes, the obscenity is necessary; no other words can describe this feeling of adoration I hold in my chest for you en masse.) I've never giggled so hard over portmanteau nicknames so much since I discovered Peeta/Katniss could be either 'Peeniss' or 'KatPee'.

(No, _Katta_ is stupid and I refuse to acknowledge it, even though I 'technically' just did.)


	47. Bonds that Tie and Separate

**A Vivid Note: **Things are going to start getting a little hot in this kitchen. I set the dial to low and draped a tea towel over the hot plate, and it's begun to smoke. Not too much longer now until it catches fire and we start driving through the remaining tributes to our _final 8.  
_BOW BEFORE MY EXCRUCIATINGLY TERRIBLE METAPHORS THAT HOLD NO SIGNIFICANCE.

Also- I warned you this would be happening, but at the bottom of this chapter are two words that are to piss off and alarm any potential sponsors. This will start to happen a lot more frequently as the tributes begin to die off faster and faster.

I want to finish this story soon, as _ridiculous _as that may sound due to my current rate of updates, but know that this is my honest intention. If I'm not done with the Capitol Games by the end of this year, I'm going to be mighty pissed with myself.  
And thank you again for being the lovely soul that you are. Whether you read and review or skim and dash, I don't care, our paths have crossed and I hope that perhaps I've managed to evoke something in you. That's all.

**Capitol Question #22; what would **_**your **_**token be if you were chosen to be a tribute?**

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Laco Sykora; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 5._

This is a bad idea. Every fiber of my being is telling me to throw Ari out of this kid's reach and kill him immediately before he has the chance to hurt her.

-But she's so concerned over the sniffling boy, it's impossible to get anywhere near now that she's so furious with me. Every now and again she throws a venomous glare in my direction as the boy shyly eyes me whilst she bandages up his hand.

We found him, Vince Pace- that Sector 11 boy- lying face down, caked in mud by one of the streams. I spotted him before Ari did. I suggested we turn back, but Ari, apparently overcome with pity for the dying boy, rushed ahead to try and help him up with complete disregard towards her own safety. I barely made it in time before the boy suddenly snapped awake and aimed that infernal blow gun right at her stomach from the dirt-

"_SHIT-!_"

It was instinct. With one stomp I crunched down hard on his hand. The blow gun snapped in half, and the boy cried out in pain. Ari was momentarily stunned- but as the boy began to scream over his flattened hand, which I wasn't releasing from under my boot, she shrieked and pushed me away.

"_LACO! He's just a boy! Get away from him! GET AWAY-!_"

Through sobs of pain, he tried to apologise. "_I thought you were the ones chasing me-!_" He stammered, breathing heavily while Ari pulled him towards a tree and away from me. "_I'm sorry- I-I wasn't going to shoot you!_"

Call it instinct, but I could tell this kid was a damn liar. While she inspected his hand, Ari pulled off his jacket and cast it aside. In the pockets I found a handful of capped darts to go with his now broken blowgun. But when I showed them to Ari, the boy just stammered wordlessly and Ari scowled at me.

"_He was obviously only using them to protect himself. Didn't you hear him? He was being chased!_" Her furious face relaxed into an upset look. "_Stop trying to protect me from everything. He's just a child._"

A child with blow darts. Sure, I might be able to trust him more now that I've broken several of his fingers and his little weapon, as well as pocketed those darts of his, but there's something about him that doesn't add up. None of the other kids his age survived past the bloodbath, and I remember that they all hung out together during the training sessions and the party. So how did he manage to get away unless he ditched them?

In a soft hushed voice, Ari brings out some of the leftover stew and uncaps it in front of Vince. "Are you hungry? We were sent some yesterday."

"Y-Yes please..." Vince trembles a little as he reaches for the bowl with his uninjured hand. "If... if that's okay?"

He looks at me meekly as he asks this, but Ari takes the liberty of digging the fork into the bowl before I can even answer. She's obviously angry with me for hurting him, and while I should feel guilty- I still can't shake this feeling that this is our best chance to take him out. He's a small kid after all, it wouldn't take much. One arrow of Ari's and it would all be over for him.

"Ari-" I begin, sounding a littler sterner than I normally would.

Completely ignoring me, she takes the liberty of feeding him herself. "Don't listen to him, okay? He's not usually like this."

Because we _don't usually come across kids with blow darts. _Why is she being so blind about this scenario? While I know in an everyday situation it would be cruel to leave a child to fend for himself, but these are the Hunger Games- and I have a nasty feeling this isn't just an ordinary kid.

Vince sounds convincing enough, even with Ari lifting the fork to his mouth. "I-I don't want to be a burden..."

"You're only little, you won't need too much. It'd just go mouldy anyway, it's better for us to share it-"

Only a small grateful sound is made, as I can see that while he's obviously relieved to finally be able to eat, the pain of his right hand must really be hurting him. It's hard not to feel smug through the guilt Ari is funnelling my way. I hope something broke. While I didn't get to see that good a look at the thing after I stood off it- the skin was already a promising shade of red; undoubtedly going to turn black eventually.

Still, it's only a hand, this kid still has another one. I've seen careers and street urchins alike kill with limbs that shouldn't support themselves, let alone slaughter other tributes. There's no way I'll trust this kid, not while his left hand lies intact by his left side and he insists on being so close to Ari.

Not that she's at all perturbed. She smiles that rare genuine smile of hers while capping the stew left-overs. "Are you thirsty? We have some water as well."

"Wow... you must have some really nice sponsors..." Vince shifts slightly, and I stiffen as his hand disappears behind his back. If he knows what's good for him, he'll keep that hand where I can see it. "You two are real lucky Miss Saint-Claire."

Something about this makes Ari's smile soften, and she turns around to fish for the water bottle that had been sent to us yesterday. But as her back is turned, I see the arm under Vince's sleeve tense. In a swift motion, my body freezes as I see the blade. And what happens is pure instinct.

"GET THE HELL _AWAY FROM HER_!"

Screaming, Ari is thrown to the ground with the back of my arm as I slam Vince against the tree by his wrist. With my right hand I clench his throat and hoist him up against the tree trunk, breathing heavily as the boy's eyes fill with fear.

"What are you _protecting yourself from now_?" I snarl, clenching my teeth. The knife trembles in his grip as I lower my voice. "Ari. Get the bow."

Alarmed, Ari trembles on the forest floor. "B-But Laco-"

But I don't care. Without taking my eyes off Vince, I roar again. "_GET THE DAMN BOW!_"

"_I WAS GOING TO GIVE IT TO HER!_" Vince cries suddenly, his throat straining against my grip. _"I-I was j-just going t-t-to give it to her!_"

"BULLSHIT!" I yell, clenching his throat tighter, causing him to drop the knife to my feet. "YOU'RE A GOD _DAMN_ LIAR! DID YOU THINK I'D JUST STAND THERE AND _LET YOU_ _STAB HER TO DEATH!_"

The boy keeps crying, but my hand around his neck is making him choke. "I-I _swear it! _I swear-!"

No. I'm not falling for his poorly thought out tricks. This kid was trying to kill Ari.

So I'll kill him. Digging my nails into the skin, I narrow my eyes as I prepare for the blood that will spew forth once I puncture the fattest vein in his neck-

"LET HIM _GO-!_"

Suddenly the bow smacks into the back of my head from behind, and I drop Vince from the aching pain now blazing across the back of my scalp. I stumble back as Ari grabs Vince in her arms and pulls him into her chest, cradling the sobbing child. With eyes wide and body shaking from the rage- I'm speechless as the girl turns to me with eyes filled with tears of anger.

"What's wrong with you..?" Ari's whisper breaks into a sob. "He's... he's just a boy... he's just a _child_ Laco...!"

Gripping the terrified child by his shoulders, she whispers apologies and rests her forehead against his shoulder while I watch on in horror from the outside.

...this is bad... she needs to believe me...! My hands dig into the dirt, the skin of Vince still under my fingernails. I was this close to killing him, _this _close to keeping her safe. After all our good luck, the food, the bow, the sleeping bag- why of all things did this child have to come into it all? This isn't just some boy- some _child_ Ari! Why can't you recognise that?

Face screwed up in agony, I punch my fist into the dirt.

-why don't you _believe me_?

* * *

_Diego "D"; 18 years; the Capitol Sector 8._

The rain of last night has left the ground damp and moist; harder to walk on. Every now and again Marshall slips and swears loudly, while Montserrat has issues with his boots sticking into the mud with such suction that it causes him to scrunch up his face in disdain.

"I'm gladthat we were able to refill our water canisters and all-" Montserrat growls, scuffing off some of the mud encrusted on his boot onto a tree root. "But it's such a pain to walk in this stuff- it's like trekking through _glue_."

That's a very appropriate comparison. "It will take time to dry. It seems that not much sunlight reaches the forest floor."

"This'd be much more fun if it were a slip 'n slide or something," Marshall remarks with a grin. "Although with all these gigantic trees it probably wouldn't work that great."

A slip and slide? In this forest, I cannot even imagine what that might look like. Although, I am having some trouble remembering what a slide looks like. Perhaps I saw a commercial for one a long time ago, picturing some shiny yellow plastic sheeting and some very excited juveniles enjoying it.

"Hey, Diego- sorry to ask, but what do you expect us to find when we follow this stream back to its source?"

His voice sounding a little reserved- perhaps Marshall felt he would hurt my feelings by asking- but I do not mind at all. Rightly so he should be wondering why we are walking so much, he is as much part of this alliance as I am.

"The Gamemakers have made a point of making the central water source contaminated, and these streams are very shallow and are likely to be subjected to change," Gesturing towards the stream we've been following, I gaze against its weak current. "Its source however will be much more stable and a better place to set up camp."

This is the most I can say without having to add 'to wait until the final 8'. However from the way Marshall nods and Montserrat's feeble smile, I believe that the pair of them already know what I meant.

It would be naive to believe we can set up camp anywhere inside this arena and be left alone by the Gamemakers. It is a rare occasion that a tribute is ignored, let alone a group of three tributes. We have drawn attention to ourselves by forming an alliance, and if the Gamemakers decide that we are no longer serving our purpose of entertaining their crowd, they will do what they can to create conflict. Even if that means killing us.

Somehow, Marshall seems to be having the exact same train of thought as I. With a determined contortion of his face, he shifts the duffel bag over his shoulder and stares dead ahead as the three of us continue to march onwards.

"Whatever those bastards decide to throw at us, it doesn't matter." Suddenly his expression seems pained. "...we'll get through it... definitely..."

Silence settles over us, and after the first few minutes pass with no words it is almost telepathically agreed the time for talking has ended. However even with the conversation having died, I cannot help but think about what we are to 'get through'.  
Montserrat, Marshall and I are very different individuals. I have known this from the beginning. It is also why I was so surprised that the pair of them were willing to partner up with myself. They are both strong-headed young men and I... I am so bland in comparison.

Still, I cannot deny that when Montserrat said "friends" that was the happiest I had ever been in my life.

Things have not been that easy for me. While my time in the orphanage cannot be called abusive or harshly unpleasant, it was a fitting prelude for living a life of nothing but solitude. I was old enough to feel cynical about ever being adopted before 'Aunt' Romania came along and pulled me out of that place and into her run down home on the edge of the Capitol.

"_Let's just say I'm your mother's sister, alright? She's dead. So is your father. So you'll live with me from here on out, you got it?_"

When I heard those words, I did not know exactly what to feel. She was obviously a sketchy woman, with greying hair and a thin face. For a long time I believed she had adopted me for some sort of tax benefit. Then I remembered that the orphans more than likely do not count as human children and are therefore ineligible for such things.

Part of me believed that... for the rest of my life... I would be 'ineligible' for many things... including something as common as 'friends'.

Montserrat suddenly interrupts my thoughts. "Hey, I just realised something Diego, we both have arm tattoos."

Pulling up his sleeve, Montserrat shows the red flames patterned across his grey skin. I don't really know what to say, since it is such a random topic to suddenly bring about- but without warning Marshall is pulling up my sleeves to confirm that Montserrat is not lying.

"Wow Diego, I never realised you had ink," Marshall says, looking mildly surprised. "So why did you get yours?"

"It seemed like the right thing to do," I answer simply, before deciding that I can tell these two the truth. "...that and I... thought it would make me feel more like a regular Capitol citizen."

Chuckling slightly, Montserrat shakes his head and begins to say something along the lines of 'Capitol citizen and _regular _in the same sentence?' while Marshall pulls back the arm of his sleeve to show me the snake wrapped around a skull on his forearm. It seems that the atmosphere is returning to normal when Marshall suddenly laughs-

"You're so different, when I first met you I thought you were from a District or something-!"

An absolutely ridiculous notion-

My mind goes white before I can even finish the thought.

-!

Something flashes in the back of my mind, like a fork of lightning setting fire to something long forgotten. Something from long, long ago. I stop dead in my tracks.

"...Diego...?" Marshall's face falls. "I... I didn't mean offense by it..."

Silver eyes. Those gleaming, argent eyes- they stare out at me from across that desolate Capitol street as the entire world goes dark-!

A hand I cannot feel grips my shoulder. "Diego? Diego what's wrong?"

His- his face was just like mine, square and pale- but even under the robe I knew he was crippled beyond repair. He had somehow made it to the Capitol from so far away. District 12 he said. Breath rasping, eyes crazed- he had tried to reach me- tried to tell me-

"_HE'S NOT YOURS ANYMORE! GET AWAY FROM HIM! GET AWAY DIEGO!_"

This memory, so broken and incoherent- filled with Romania's screams as she tore me away from this looming stranger- suddenly mixes with the cheerful voice of Marshall's-

"-_I thought_ _you were from a District or something-!_"

The entire world comes to a screeching halt. As Montserrat grabs me by both shoulders and keeps his eyes on mine- I feel my face begin to break under the truth that had been hidden from me for eighteen years.

"...Diego..?" Montserrat murmurs, concerned. "...Diego... what... what's wrong...?"

"...He's my father... that man he... he came back for me..." I am breathless. My heart slows and I feel my entire body begin to tremor. "...My... my father..."

And my world begins to spin again... but in the opposite direction...

"...my father is from District 12..."

* * *

_Ferroh Axum; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 7._

A long time ago in school I remember briefly reading about hunting. The reason why I say 'briefly' is because the moment I opened to the page, a classmate snickered at an ancient photo of a black man dressed in a shabby loin-cloth about to thrust a spear into a river for fish.

When I looked at them to find out what was so funny, they just grinned childishly.

"_He looks just like you, Ferroh!_"

That single comment pissed me off more than anything else a person had ever said to me before then. I'm far from being the only dark skinned person in the Capitol- but the fact that someone would take one look at a wild man and decide to akin him to me is absolutely infuriating. Believe what you will- but in my head that's some pretty old school racism there.

...All that aside, it's hard not to remember that moment as I stand here gripping the knife I got away from the cornucopia with, staring down with the weirdest looking deer I've ever seen, wishing that I had a river full of fish like the man in the textbook had.

Faye-Anna watches on from the sidelines, obviously panicked as she whispers. "Do you... do you want some help?"

"No." I can tell right now that Faye-Anna wouldn't be any help. She's not exactly the hunting type of girl.

The deer stares at me with blank eyes that look like black marbles. It doesn't move from the spot, but I can see its legs tensed and ready to spring away should I move any closer towards it. Even as I take a step back- I can see its muscles preparing itself for a surprise attack.

We didn't actually plan on going hunting, the creature happened its way across us by accident. For a moment Faye and I just sort of stared at it, it hadn't noticed us yet, but after taking in its curling horns and odd black markings over its coat I decided that a tribute should _never _turn up fresh meat.

Except... then we reached this moment, with me standing down a deer with nothing but a knife- not knowing how on Earth I expect to take down this thing. Where do I stab? How do I even get close enough to stab? Will it try to run or will it try to gore me with those ridiculous horns-?

If it runs I just know that I'm going to feel awful about it all day. While I don't really know what I would do with a slab of deer carcass, it would be undoubtedly better than _not _having a slab of deer carcass.  
So I continue to stare down the creature, still not knowing what my next move will be. If only there was a wall or something behind it; something to coax it into coming forwards rather than turning and running.

A tiny spark goes through my brain as I remember little Faye-Anna shyly standing off to the side.

As quietly as possible while maintaining eye contact with the deer, I speak slowly. "...Faye... get behind the deer... and scare it... okay?"

While I can't see Faye, I know for sure she's looking at me with those wide, terrified eyes of hers.

"S-Scare it...?"

"Yes. Weave around... and then shout or scream from behind..." I see the animal begin to scuff one of its hooves in the dead leaves of the forest floor. "...be quick... but be quiet until you're behind it..."

It's obvious that the idea of scaring the deer into moving towards me frightens my ally, but it's also pretty certain that Faye-Anna isn't the type to let fear stand in the way of progress. So when I hear her tiny footsteps disappear, I make a note to do or say something nice for her as soon as I can, if I can.

Sure enough, Faye emerges around a tree about fifteen feet behind the deer, trembling with fear. Her face is filled with panic. Nodding slowly, I motion for her to make her move. With short, frantic footsteps- she barely edges towards the thing before its ears perk up and all four of its legs spring into action.

Oh, _crap_-

There's no time for me to move, this deer is too fast to out-manoeuvre. But I frantically try and side-step the beast as it charges at me, away from Faye, but I can see the thick horns ram into my ribs before the thought to move and slash my feeble little dagger even finishes processing. Something painful cracks in my side as I'm butted to the forest ground and Faye-Anna screeches in terror as I spread onto my back, groaning in pain whilst clutching at my ribs. The sound of hooves disappears into the forest.

Shit. There's an excruciating pain that almost burns under the skin where the horn connected with my side. My fingers gingerly press against the spot to inspect the damage, but that only manages pull out a small yelp of pain just from touching it.

The damn thing might have broken one of my ribs.

"Ferroh! Ferroh!"

Scrambling to my side, Faye-Anna lunges over me like a blanket; crying and sobbing over my chest as I wince from the pain this causes. I try to push her off- but the girl is persistent in burying her face in my chest and practically screaming in anguish.

"I-I-I'm so sorry!" She wails, rubbing her forehead into my jacket. "D-Don't die! Don't die-! I'm so sorry-!"

Cringing, I wrinkle my face into a wry smile. "...Faye?"

Snot dripping down her snivelling face, Faye looks up and stares at me devotedly.

"Y-Yes?"

"...I'm not dying."

There's a pause. It's almost possible to hear all of Panem snorting in derision as Faye shifts backwards slightly, tears still trickling down her cheeks.

"...you're not dying...?"

With a slow shake of my head, I reach down and tentatively pull up the side of my shirt for Faye to see. At first she shies away, embarrassed, but it only takes a moment for her to lean in and inspect the spot where she had no doubt expected to find a great bloody gash from the deer's antlers.  
Her fingers oddly steady; Faye gently presses her index finger against the place of hurt. I intake sharply, but she doesn't remove her fingertip. Instead she wiggles it and looks up at me with a worried expression.

"It feels bumpy... but I don't think it's broken..." Glancing down, she realises her finger is still against my skin and flushes pink, pulling away quickly. "D-Do you think you'll be okay?"

Surprisingly the moment Faye said that she didn't think the rib had broken I began to feel inexplicably better. I sit up, only mildly bothered by the aching pain in my side, and smile sheepishly as I pick up the knife that fell beside me.

Looking over at Faye, I see she's smiling weakly too. "Well, looks like we won't be eating deer tonight then."

"Just as well... I don't think we could've cooked it anyway..." And with a frightened giggle, Faye-Anna closes her eyes and smiles.

...and instantly, all the panic of before melts away and I feel completely relaxed. I wonder if this girl realises how much power a little smile of hers can have. As she opens her eyes and looks up, I'm about to say something about this when her mouth opens in surprise.

"Oh my... oh my gosh... Ferroh- _look_!"

Following Faye-Anna's gaze, I look up above us and feel my heart skip a beat. There, gently floating down towards us like a little silver hot air balloon drifting to earth, the sponsor item floats down besides us and lands in a nicely sized heap.  
Neither of us speaks. Perhaps we feel we're going to jinx it should we recognise that it's happened. But as the pair of us reach over and pull the parachute away, revealing four bread rolls and a small canister full of water- I allow myself a tiny breath of laughter.

"Guess we didn't need any deer carcass after all."

Exchanging a grin with Faye, I don't even try to contain my happiness as both she and I rip off the parachute and into our new treasure.

What I have here is much better than a deer carcass, or even a river of fish.

* * *

_Holland Wickbird; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 3._

Is this some sort of joke, or am I hallucinating this? Chess' hands slowly leave my arm as she steps towards the solid structure, but I frantically reach forward and grab her sleeve to pull her back again.

"It's got to be a trap," I hush, feeling a bit like I've just been electrocuted. "There's no way they'd send this in. I mean... _look at it_!"

Gesturing madly at the contraption, both of us stare blankly towards it- unsure what on Earth we're supposed to do with such a thing.

It's a _cannon_.

After we awoke we heard the sound of something large rustling in the trees above. Thinking it was some sort of monster, we hid under the rock crag we slept under hoping it would shield us- only for this huge metal structure to drift down and hit the ground with a great _'thud'_, the giant silver parachute gently falling and covering briefly it from view.

I've never seen anything like this falling into the Games before, not ever. Once a set of mines were sent down like eight years ago or something, but that's nothing compared to this thing. While it's sort of an unspoken rule that no guns should be allowed in the arena- I always assumed that artillery would fall under that regulation as well.

That is, until now of course...

Chess looks at the cannon and then glances back to me before slowly eyeing the cannon again. "...do you think it's meant for us?"

"I hope not." What would we even do with it? Even if it's loaded, I don't know how to use a flipping cannon!

Still looking mildly concerned, Chess pulls away from me and approaches the big metal thing cautiously- squinting a little as if to make sure it's really there. Gently pulling off the silver canvas of the parachute, she tosses it at my feet and kneels down to inspect the cannon.

"Think it fell by accident or something..?" Chess runs her hand along the huge barrel, hesitating a moment before putting her fingers slightly inside the end. "It could be one of the cannons that signal when someone has died...?"

"No way... after all, it floated down with a parachute... it must've been on purpose."

That's right. If it fell by accident it would've just come crashing down out of the sky like a meteor and crushed one of us into the ground like a foot on a paper cup. It definitely wouldn't have floated down so gently if it wasn't meant to on purpose.  
...but why would they send us a cannon of all things? Something like dynamite is much more conventional if they want to send us something destructive... how much would this have even cost anyway?

"...I wanna try it out~!"

"Wh-What?" I double back as Francesca beams up at me. "Chess, you have got to be kidding-! We can't use this thing!"

With that blank look that only she can do so well, Chess tilts her head. "Why not? I don't think anything bad will happen."

She's definitely not picturing any of the scenarios going through my head then. What if the cannon explodes and blows us up along with it? What if the noise attracts some sort of muttation- or worse, that career group we barely escaped two nights ago? What if it's some sort of trap and lights the entire forest on fire?

"W-We don't even know if it's loaded-!" I begin desperately as Chess begins searching around in the dirt for some rocks to light the end of the rope-like fuse. "Come on Chess, please don't-!"

Dejected, Chess sinks into the forest floor and stares up at me pleadingly. Almost immediately I feel an intense wave of guilt for telling her not to use the cannon, and for a second I consider saying 'fine' before common sense gets the better of me again.

"No Chess, don't give me that look..." My shoulders slump and I look away from her to keep myself from feeling worse. "...we should hide this... hide it u-until... until we can come up for a use for it."

At this, the disheartened look vanishes completely from Francesca's face as she beams with excitement. "Oh- oh thank you Holly!"

Leaping from the ground and throwing her arms around me, I stagger backwards slightly and feel the heel of my boot slip in the fresh mud made from the rain. With a high-pitched squeal I couldn't contain fast enough- Chess and I go sliding backwards into the mud beside our rock formations. As I we come to a sudden halt I feel an intense wave of nausea knowing that my back is no doubt _coated _in muck now- but not before Chess gasps in awe.

"...oh my gosh... Holly... how didn't we notice this last night?"

A little blind from the sudden startle, I blink a few times before I realise what exactly we're lying directly in front of. As my eyes slowly adjust I notice the speckled sunlight is reflecting off the almost perfectly circular gaping hole in the earth- completely encased in ice.

"It's an ice cave..." Chess whispers, gripping tightly around my shoulders. "...it's an _ice cave-!"_

Without her saying anything else, I can already tell what's going to happen next- and knowing makes my entire body tense up in a panic. In a feeble voice I try to dissuade her from what she's going to say-

"Chess... I... I don't think..."

But it's too late. Pushing me even deeper into the mud with the palms of her hands. Chess' eyes sparkle with a childish excitement as she sits up on top of me, her legs straddling my sides and making my face burn as I try to keep myself from getting too flustered.

"We've just got to check it out!"

...anything... anything but that... are you _trying_ to get us killed Chess...?

Suddenly I wish I had just gone and said yes to her trying out the cannon.

* * *

_Vinel Greggorus; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 4._

The forest is deathly quiet today. There's a slight squelching beneath my feet from the mud, but it's slowly beginning to dry. I try to distract myself from the situation by focusing on the sounds of the mud splattering about my boots rather than the silent Brandit Gailer who patrols alongside me.

"There's no point sending all of us out to scout during the day," Natalia had said when we awoke this morning. "So you two go out and see if you can find any tributes skulking about, and then tonight three of us will go hunting further into the woods_._"

At the time I wasn't really listening. I was preoccupied with the cricks in my back from sleeping curled up inside the cornucopia with Cotton rather than listening to Natalia's annoying orders. Not Cotton though. The moment Natalia was preoccupied with digging breakfast out of the crates she nudged me hard in the side.  
Those eyes of hers said it all. The blue and brown said without words 'We leave today.'

But things didn't exactly go according to Cotton's plan when Brandit suggested the girls stay behind and 'us guys' go out for the day shift. I couldn't exactly protest the idea, unless I wanted to raise suspicion. While those same eyes that had been so determined before then begged me not to leave her with Natalia- I walked away with Brandit into the forest with a small canister of water attached to my belt and one of the swords Natalia deemed 'acceptable' for me to take.

-'Acceptable' meaning 'Nothing she would miss if it happened to get scooped up with my body like with what happened with Jasse'... 'Acceptable'.

The moment Brandit and I made it out of the dome of roses- all our exits seemed to have repaired themselves and needed to be recut- I was on the alert for that nasty bear to come lunging out of the woods. Of course, no such thing happened and Brandit and I walked, albeit cautiously, into the surrounding forest.

"Do you think it's still out there?" Brandit asks, looking where he's walking rather than at me.

"...what? The bear?" I stare down at the mud and wonder what I'd do if I saw a paw print staring back at me. "I guess it has to be. The mutts usually live in the arena too after all."

It's definitely still out there. The only reason it hasn't shown up again is because the Gamemakers probably think it'd be an easy fight and they want to save the bear for when things get boring again. Hopefully they'll sic it on someone else this time. I'm still reliving glimpses of what happened to Jasse, and it gets worse every time I do.

Despite the fact I'd be happy not to say anything to Brandit, he seems to be in a talkative mood for some reason. "I wonder how a person would take down a creature like that. I heard that bears can withstand around eight rifle rounds to the face."

"...that's comforting..."

Lot of good that'll do us. We don't even _have _any guns in this stupid arena. Let alone a rifle with more than eight rounds to go with it for bear hunting.

"Got to wonder though... if there's one bear, that probably means there are more hidden around here," With a rueful smile, Brandit tilts his head backwards and eyes me teasingly. "What's the bet the final show will be a stampede of those things?"

"I hope not." I say blankly, feeling mildly irritated. "It wouldn't be much of a fight."

Why do we have to talk about this shit? Can't we just walk in silence like real scouts would? I want to say something about drawing unnecessary attention to us- but my head tells me not to show any sign of dislike, however small.  
But it's already hard to pretend like this. All I want to do is do what Jasse did and say that I'm going for a piss when really what I'm doing is pissing off completely. But if I did that, Brandit wouldn't fall for it, and neither would Natalia. Plus, I'm not meant to leave without Cotton.

But if I can't leave on my own, how on earth am I meant to leave with _her_? We can't exactly both chirp up 'We need to pee!' and expect them to let us walk away. No one is that retarded.

Grinding my teeth together, I think of Cotton. She's the only reason I haven't rammed the butt of this sword into Brandit's head and ran for the horizon. I promised myself that I wouldn't leave without her, but it was a begrudging sort of promise. After all, what will she do when I say that the first thing I want to do after successfully leaving Natalia and Brandit is to find Minerva?

"_-i-is that the only reason-?_"

Remembering what she said on our first day makes me want to cringe. Cotton wasn't fooled by my 'Sector partner' excuse, even when it had fooled me. I'm not as great a liar as I might have previously thought.  
No, my feelings for Minerva might not just be as 'Sector partners', but maybe as something more. And maybe that's stupid. But I don't need to hear that from her. I don't need to hear that from anyone. I _know _that it's stupid to like an engaged girl. Do they think I have control over it or something?

-I thought I liked Cotton, but it was just more lying to myself. A way to deal with not being able to get the girl I really wanted. The rooftop, the flirting, the kisses- everything was just an elaborate ploy to distract myself from the let down of not being able to sweep Minerva off her feet.

Gripping my hands tightly by my sides, I expel a breath of frustration. When am I going to stop lying? If I run away with Cotton I'll just be continuing it all. But if I run away without her-

"-Vinel."

A blade suddenly glinting at my waist, I wake up into reality to find Brandit brandishing his sword across my path. Stumbling back, I stare at him in alarm.

"Wh-What are you doing?" I shout in a panic, grabbing for my own sword. "You-!"

All traces of playful conversation gone from his face, the volunteer from 6 narrows his eyes darkly. "Did you really think I couldn't see through you? That I don't realise you're just waiting for the right moment to make a break for it?"

"-What the hell are you talking about-?" I growl, bunching my hand over my sword's hilt. "Listen man; don't go making these crazy assumptions-"

"If you're going to run, I won't stop you."

I stop halfway through my sentence, mouth gaping soundlessly.

Did he... just say that...?

"You didn't want to be here from the beginning," Brandit murmurs coldly. "It was only because she wanted to be in 'the careers' right? You never wanted to be part of this alliance."

Staring at him in shock, I try to find words- but I'm too stunned to think properly.

"Leave here. Don't delude that girl any further than you already have," Lowering his sword, Brandit steps aside as if clearing the path. "Go find your Sector partner before Natalia and I find you both."

My mouth is dry. Stumbling over my words, I babble. "-But what about Cotton-?"

"If she wants to leave, then she'll leave too. Don't worry about her. She seems strong enough." Relaxing at the shoulders, Brandit's emotionless face breaks into a small smile. "None of us will achieve anything staying together like this. It's better for you to leave now and get a head's start without her. Should you decide you really do care about her, you'll find Cotton again. That's how this stupid thing works isn't it?"

By 'stupid thing', I realise he means 'the Games'.

"...are you... are you seriously going to let me go?" I feel weird. Cold. "How do I know you're not just going to stab a sword into my back the moment I pass you?"

In answer, Brandit tosses the sword the mud by my feet. Unable to find words again, I look down at the steel now flecked with dirt.

He's... he's seriously going to let me walk away from here...?

"...thank you..."

This time, when I take a step out of the mud- my feet feel freer than they have during the past four days. I look over at Brandit one last time and take in the kid, wondering if we'll meet again before all this is over.

And somehow, I know in my heart that we won't.

So I decide to qualm the curiosity that I've held for the past few days while I still can.

"...Brandit... before... yeah... I kind of want to know..." Stepping over his sword and gazing at the forest stretched out before me, I look back at the guy. "...do you have any idea why you volunteered?"

For a moment it looks as if Brandit truly considers my question. As if the reason is tucked inside his head and he just needs some time to find it. But, with a shrug and a smile, he picks up his sword and begins to walk away.

"Not really."

I watch him walk away, dragging his sword through the mud behind him, until he disappears completely behind the wall of forest that now separates me from the rose dome, Natalia, Cotton- and the lie I clung to in order to hide the truth.

And as I turn to the forest before me, I know that truth is out there waiting.

I'm going to find her. No matter what. I'll find her.

_I'm sorry for lying Cotton..._

* * *

_Montserrat Saint-Phillipe; 18 years; the Capitol Sector 9._

It took some time before Diego felt he was able to talk to us about what had worked him up so much before. Even when he elaborated on what it was, neither me or Marshall could really come to terms with what he was saying. How could his Dad be someone from one of the Districts? It's not like we're allowed to fraternize with the Districts all that much.

But as we discussed it, it became obvious that there were plenty of ways a woman could have a child with a man from one of the Districts, depending on her career choice. If she was a Peace Keeper, CapitolNet reporter or camera operator- it'd be more than possible for that woman to slip away for a few minutes and find herself... well, in an unsavoury situation.

We tried not to discuss that too much though. I think Diego realizing that he was right to feel out of place in the Capitol was more important than him being the product of rape.

"Wait, I don't get it though," Sitting on an elevated tree root, Marshall gazes down at us as we take turns tearing off chunks of bread. "Why would she stick you in an orphanage?

"Perhaps I would have damaged her social standing." Diego answers, not taking his eyes off the ground. "It does not matter. My Aunt always insisted she was dead."

Chewing slowly, I shake my head while looking at Diego. "She also said your _dad _was dead, and it was obviously him you ran into that night. How do you know she wasn't lying about your mom being dead too?"

To someone else, this thought probably wouldn't occur to them until I just said it. But Diego shrugs in that polite way of his as if to say his mother's existence isn't important right now. I guess it doesn't really matter. I also doubt that he hadn't already considered that scenario.

Marshall sighs, his shoulders sagging as he shakes his head. "And I thought _my_ family was messed up."

"-yours is just more obviously 'messed up'," I smile weakly. "If you think about it, none of us here can say that our families are normal."

"At least yours likes each other," Marshall points out, sounding a little bitter. "...I could make a joke here, but I won't."

Luckily I'm in a rather forgiving mood right now, seeing as we're trying to focus on Diego- not my own situation with my step-sister waiting at home for my answer to her no longer hidden feelings. Otherwise I probably would've said something awful to Marshall right about now.

But Diego doesn't let the focus shift back to him. Instead, he looks at both Marshall and I rather carefully and, pausing for a moment, rests his bread upon the ground and looks at the two of us with a quiet ferocity different to all his other thoughtful silences.

"...what is it?" Slowly, I raise an eyebrow.

There's a silence, and for the first time since I've met him, Diego looks embarrassed.

"I... I am not quite sure if I should say it or not... you may find it a tad... strong, for people who have not known each other for all too long."

And here was me thinking that Diego might be mildly autistic. So he does think about other people's emotions. Somehow this makes me grin a little.

"Go on and say it." I say with a laugh as Marshall agrees with a fervent nod. "Don't leave us wondering."

Slowly, with obvious difficulty in how to word this mystery thought of his, Diego blurts out the words-

"I never really had a family until you two."

Mouth twitching, Diego looks down awkwardly as Marshall and I sit still with awe.

...he thinks... he thinks of us as family...?

Then, almost as if we're thinking in parallel, Marshall and I turn to one another and just stare for a few moments quietly as Diego doesn't make a single sound.

I don't know what to think. Not only was that the last thing I ever thought I would hear during the Hunger Games, it's also from Diego- who was so socially inept that when I said friends he looked like a spaceship had crashed down in front of him. What's even stranger is that... I'm positive that I feel exactly the same way.

Our silence must have worried him, because Diego shakes his head quickly. "Please disregard this if it bothers you. I did not want to say any unnecessary-"

"It's not unnecessary!"

Marshall blurts it out before I can. Diego looks over at him with mild shock as Marshall, gripping tight to the tree root beneath him, is oddly stiff as he stares with a strange intensity at Diego.

"Don't- don't think that, okay?" His arms shaking a little, Marshall looks down at his knees, and then back up at Diego. "We're glad to hear that! I mean... I'm... I'm really glad you said it Diego..."

Screwing his face up, Marshall's fierce voice dies away into the tiniest of whispers-

"...because... this... this is the first time I've really felt like a family too..."

A strange sensation of astonishment overcomes me as Marshall tears his attention from both of us, staring far to his right- far into nothing. Maybe he thinks he's going to cry and doesn't want us to see. For all his bravado during the pre-game ceremonies, right here and now he's admitted something this personal.  
Knowing it will take our friend some time to recover; I close my eyes and feel a warm vibe pulsate through me as I embrace this happiness.

"Diego, didn't you realise...?" Opening my eyes and watching the surprise in his expression, my smile breaks into a grin. "We feel exactly the same way about you?"

No words come from our friendly giant. Instead, he too begins to smile what looks to be the first real unguarded smile of his entire life. It's weak at first, but it trembles and turns into a grin- which then produces the strangest laughter I've ever heard. At first it's like a snicker, and then a heaving laugh more suited to an old man. Without realising I begin laughing as well as Marshall rubs his sleeve furious across his eyes; grinning too.

"Marsh' are you really_ crying_?"

"Sh-Shut up bastard! I'm not!"

"Hahaha- I didn't know you had it in you to cry Marshall!"

"I SAID SHUT UP-!"

While I have a family at home, no doubt watching the television with pale faces; waiting anxiously for me to return from this place- I no longer have just them to think of anymore, because I have another family right here, who needs me more.  
In this family I'm one of two elder brothers, who are currently laughing as their younger brother furiously tries to hide his tears from them.

I'm glad. I'm glad to be a part of this family. To have brothers like these, to have met and known Diego and Marshall, and to fight for our lives alongside one another like this.

And I've never felt more proud in my entire life.

* * *

**PRICE INCREASE.  
**This is the first increase. Everything now costs +2 more than it originally did.

**Capitol Question #22; what would **_**your **_**token be if you were chosen to be a tribute?**


	48. Of All Things Love

**A Vivid Note: **I had to write this chapter twice. I was irritated, yes, but that irritation was wiped by the realisation I have received not only 1000 reviews, but was the winner of 'Best SYOC' in the 2011 Summer Hunger Games Awards **and **'Best Author'.

While I can't say for sure that I deserve it, thank you so much for your support. I say this a lot, but I really do appreciate you for even _glancing _at my work. It makes me very happy. So thank you. I wish so many wonderful things for you; for you and me to share this happiness together.  
If there's anything I can ever do for you, do not hesitate to ask. I am going to try and return the favour as best I can, because honestly- I feel I owe everyone for their kindness.

**Note to Sponsors: **I no longer accept sponsoring via review. _Before_ you start raising your brow, let me tell you that I now only accept sponsoring via District 15. I'd rather keep the review pages tidy. There is a labelled link on my profile where you can post what you would like to send in, however bear in mind that the only thing that has changed is that I'll only accept sponsoring over the forum.

**Capitol Question #23; do you believe your family/friends could forgive you were you to kill in the Hunger Games?**

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Ari Saint-Claire; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 5._

I've been gripping my hand too tightly around the bow for so long that my fingers are surely beginning to turn a faint purple. While I know it's just my paranoia, my head is warning me not to let Laco anywhere near it- unless I want to be pinned to the tree just like Vince was.

The boy is curled up in our new sleeping bag the sponsors sent us. He's the first one to try it since both Laco and I have our separate reasons not to want it. I have been sitting beside him holding onto this bow since the sun went down and Vince asked if he was allowed to sleep. It was obvious to me that Laco didn't care who used the sleeping bag as long as it wasn't Vince, so when I laid it out for the child it was an act of rebellion as Laco sat and watched from several feet away.

"Is... is this okay?" Vince had asked me, eyes timidly glossing over the sleek black material. "Are you sure that... that one of you wouldn't rather...?"

I was all too quick to console him; sufficiently cutting off any of Laco's protesting. "No, it's fine. Go on, we'll stand watch. You don't have worry about anything."

That's right. The one who has to worry right now is me.

It should only be natural to feel terrified in the Hunger Games. I don't think many tributes have ever gone through the Games without feeling scared the entire time. At least, not any of the sane ones did at least. But right now I'm not feeling the general fear I have for the past few nights; of a stranger looming from within the darkness and killing Laco and I. This fear is much more immediate and intense than that.

I'm frightened.

I'm _frightened_ of Laco.

Ever since yesterday I haven't been able to look him in the eyes. Each time I try to it's... it's like a convulsion courses through my body and forces me to look away again. My head screams and my heart pounds as I remember the inhuman rage fixed upon his face.

"_GET THE DAMN BOW!_"

The ferocity in his voice terrified me to my core. He was no longer the kind, albeit awkward guy painted with zebra stripes that had followed me around so determinedly before the games had begun; the one who took my hand, danced with me, held me as I cried and comforted me when I lost all sense.

That horrifying young man who dug his fingers into a little boy's throat is _not _the Laco Sykora I had begun to trust... begun to _love_. He was a stranger- a... a _killer_. At least, he would've been, if I hadn't hit him over the head with the bow.  
I haven't been able to let it go since then. No matter how much my fingers hurt, I won't let it go. I _won't_. Laco already has the dagger that Vince dropped. I can't let him have the bow as well. I'm not even comfortable letting him keep the battered slingshot. Otherwise... what... what would happen if he decided to turn on me?

Part of me adamantly refuses to believe that could ever happen, that I need to believe in Laco, to believe in these budding feelings I'm holding in my heart and to trust that he would never hurt me- but my paranoia won't listen. It's eating away at me, tearing and ripping at my faith- stealing the strength I need to look him in the eyes and say-

"_I want you to trust me._"

Laco hasn't taken his eyes off me all night. He hasn't made any attempts to sleep, which I guess is because he refuses to let his guard down around Vince. Were Vince any older, fourteen perhaps, I might understand but... he's twelve. He's only a twelve year old Capitol boy. He just isn't built for fighting or killing.  
He was in tears for a while because of what Laco did to him. I couldn't bear to look at his hand, bruised black and red like that. While he did say he still had feelings in his fingers, Vince looked distraught when he found that he couldn't wiggle his pointer and middle finger because of the intensity of the pain.

I couldn't believe what Laco had done to him. Even now, under the faint morning light breaking through the canopy, I can still see the crescent shapes from where Laco's nails dug into his neck.

He was completely prepared to kill him. If I had not have stopped him, this boy definitely wouldn't be here. He would've been scooped up by one of those hovercrafts and taken away from this place forever.

And if I hadn't have stopped him... would I still be here?

For a single moment, I feel my heart fall straight through my stomach.

I don't want to think these things anymore. I want to go back to the way things were before all this fear was born inside me. Where I could curl up next to Laco and feel _safe_ while I slept. Back before we found Vince and I discovered that all those times my Sector partner professed that he'd protect me, he meant he was going to kill innocent people.

But there's no way. I can no more turn back time now than I could all those other times I wanted to change things. How many nights did I spend screaming and crying into the sheets for a way to bring Namer or my mother back, only for it to end exactly as I had secretly expected it to?  
There is no way to turn back time, no more than there is to bring back the dead. No matter how hard someone wishes... you can't do either of those things...

Even so... if I had one wish right now... what would it be?

To go back in time to when Namer would hold me gently in his arms and whisper that my mother wouldn't want me to live the life of a Capitol showgirl? What would be the point? I could no more stop Namer being taken away by the Peacekeepers now than I could then. Perhaps I could wish for some sort of closure, to know what truly happened to him- but I feel that not knowing is somehow better than the truth...

What else is there, to wish that I wasn't reaped? That when that ball broke, _my _slip had also been washed away by the wind along with all those other names? It sounds like an understandable wish but... even with my paranoia shredding apart my faith in Laco I... I still don't want to be apart from him. To not be reaped would be to condemn myself into never knowing him, to never loving him.

I couldn't do that to myself. Not after I spent so long believing that, after Namer, I would never be able to let myself open my heart like this again.

No. This... this is what is supposed to happen.

Glancing upwards, I feel a faint courage urge my eyes towards Laco's. There, in the still darkness of the morning, I see them glinting back at me. I would try to speak, but my mouth turns dry at the sight of him gazing back at me so blankly.

Lip trembling, I try to form words. "...L... Laco...?"

"Go to sleep Ari."

His voice is sharp, causing me to recoil slightly. While there is no hatred or malice hidden behind his words, they're curt enough to feed my paranoia with delusions of that rage-filled voice from yesterday.

"I... I don't-"

Cutting me off, Laco mutters quietly. "Just go to sleep. We don't know what they'll throw at us today."

The Gamemakers. Somehow I had managed to forget about all the other things I'm supposed to fear in this arena. Suddenly I remember the severity of right now. They're watching. They're watching and waiting for the moment we're at our weakest to test us with their horrible tricks. There's no telling what they'll do.

Weakness hits me like a slap. I realise how greasy my hair feels, how sore my entire body truly feels. It takes everything I have not to slump backwards against the tree and rest as Laco continues to stare at me, seemingly unaffected by the same exhaustion.

"Is it..." No Ari. Don't ask him if it's okay. Both of us would know I'm not asking for permission- I'm asking if he'll try anything. I can see it in his eyes as the words trail off into silence.

"...It'll all be okay. I promise."

...

Just from those gentle words... even my paranoia wavers as in the darkness I catch a glimpse of a reassuring smile that reminds me of the Laco I know, the Laco I trust. As I settle down I don't take my eyes off him, not wanting to miss a moment of that smile that I know will disappear as quickly as it came.

After all... we really don't know what tomorrow will bring... this just may be the last time I see a smile in my entire life, and as scared as I am of Laco's dangerous side, I'm just as frightened of losing the side of him I love.  
And that calm, reassuring smile.

* * *

_Natalia Marinos; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 2._

As I hear Brandit's signal whistle from beyond the rose vines I don't even bother pretending that I'm not thrilled. I regret not going with him and avoiding all of this unnecessary 'quality-time' with an oddly smug Cotton altogether. I'd almost be willing to say it has been the worst experience of the games so far... if only I could forget the night Jasse was mauled and I saw the reminder of what these games really are.

But as I look up to give Brandit a smile as he approaches- a smile he doesn't return- I suddenly recognise what's wrong.

He's alone.

I don't want to jump to conclusions, so I give it a moment. I keep the smile on my face, but it begins to falter the closer Brandit gets. The window of opportunity for a straggling Vinel to emerge behind him has long passed, but I begin to clench my teeth together as the truth seeps in.

It's just Brandit.

Cotton begins to tremble before the shriek has even left my throat.

"WHERE IS HE?" I scream, storming towards Brandit. "WHERE THE _HELL_ IS VINEL?"

Brandit looks at me, expression unmoving.

"He left."

His sheer bluntness just enrages me further. I'm vaguely aware of Cotton still breathing heavily behind me, panicked that her free ride through these games has abandoned her. Right now I don't care about her; I've wasted the past hour of my life on that vapid girl.

"What do you mean, he _left_?" I can almost feel my eyes bulge as I hiss out the words. "He just... walked away and you let him go? What the hell do you-?"

Without warning, Brandit suddenly swings his sword out and points it towards me, causing me to freeze mid-sentence. My stomach lurches into my throat as I watch his eyes narrow and hear him spit-

"Don't move."

I can't believe this is happening. Brandit's eyes are glassy and emotionless as I feel the hairs on my arms prickle. His sword looks dull with dirt, but it glints nastily under the light filtered through the vines. My throat closes up as Brandit takes a step forward, and for the first time since I saw the bear move on Jasse- I feel fear.

"Get away," I whisper in horror, unable to move. "Don't point that thing at me-"

But Brandit doesn't falter. He narrows his eyes. "Not you Natalia. Her."

H-Her?

Suddenly, I remember Cotton. And as I do, I'm abruptly aware of the terrified girl poised with her shaking dagger behind me.

Shit. Shit, shit. My body goes rigid while my peripherals catch sight of the girl. A step or two more and she'd have that steel buried in my back. There's a crunch as Brandit steps forwards, and his sword is held steady over my shoulder- pointing its tip straight towards the mutinous girl's face.

"I know you're angry right now," Brandit says calmly, holding her stare. "But if you take another step towards her, it'll be the last thing you ever do."

My heart is pounding as Cotton breathes heavily behind me. She's not moving towards me, but she isn't stepping back either. I'm trapped between both blades, unable to move or breathe as I begin to feel the vulnerability I've been fighting off since I heard my named called.

"_Please Natalia- d-don't walk up there- ignore it-_"

I can't ignore it Mom. I can't do it. Slowly I begin to breathe again, my entire body shaking with a sensation I can't explain. It rattles in my lungs and I feel my face stiffen with the intensity as I eye her over my shoulder, refusing to drop her pathetic reason to continue on-

No. No I can't ignore this. The rage overwhelms me as I slowly turn to face her, too angry to even take satisfaction at the pure terror currently living in her eyes.

"...so was this your plan...?" I whisper, twisting my body around. "To stab me in the back and then run off to be with that idiot...?"

Cotton recoils slightly, but her hand tightens over the dagger's handle. The thorns crunch beneath Brandit's boots behind me as he closes the gap between us. I don't take my eyes off of Cotton though. Right now, in this world, it's just me and her. Just like it was on the rooftop that night when I realised how much I truly detested her for depending on that brainless pretty boy on getting her through these games.

This girl thinks she can kill me with that dagger. She thinks she's more worthy to live more than I do. The anger burns higher as I catch a glimpse of what might have been; Cotton standing over my crumpled body, blood from my wound coating her knife as she actually _believes _that I didn't deserve to go home to my family.

Not as much as her.

"...I was right about you... right from the start..."

It may be a whisper, but there's more power in this hushed voice than there is in this bitch's entire body.

So when I throw myself at her, I have no worries about what I am doing as we both fall to the ground, screaming and flailing as Brandit shouts out in panic, scrambling forwards to pry the pair of us apart-

"YOU DON'T DESERVE TO WIN!" I howl through gnashing teeth. "YOU'RE JUST A SCARED LITTLE GIRL- PRETENDING! THAT'S ALL YOU CAN DO-!"

I dig my nails into her cheeks and pull into them, warranting Cotton to scream in pain. "GET _AWAY FROM ME_!"

Her knife swings up at me. I don't even bother dodging, there's no power in her frantic slashes. Its handle tangles in my hair- and while the pain sears through my scalp like fire- I don't relent for even a moment. I pull away a hand and slap it hard across her face- scrunching my face up in anger as I grab hold of a chunk of her hair and yank her upwards with it, causing those ridiculous multi-coloured eyes of hers to fly open in pain.

"You volunteered for this, but you're too pathetic to fight for yourself," I hiss through my teeth. "You deserve nothing- _nothing_ Cotton-"

With my free hand, I reach for the dagger- still being held by Cotton- tangled in my hair. My fingers clasp over hers, and as something that might be anger shows in her eyes- I grab hold of her hand and the dagger and tighten them both in my fist.

"-Nothing but _pain_-!"

In one swift motion, I snap her upper arm backwards. While it doesn't break- I don't have the upper body strength- it does tear out a chunk of my hair at the roots and cause Cotton to squeal loudly and release her grip. There's no time to wince at the stinging of my scalp- I use the moment of surprise to snatch the dagger out of her hand and hold her down by her throat.

Breathing heavily, I stare down at the terrified girl, dagger at the ready. Cotton stares up at the knife, her body stiffening in horror as she finally realises how everything could be over for her in seconds.

...but...

I can't move. The dagger is burning in my hand. I feel the same choking sensation I felt as I went to attack Jason; my entire body freezing up just as it had almost done before. Hard as I try to summon the courage to bring this blade slashing down against Cotton's disgraceful face- I can't do it. I can't do it. I can't.

"N-Natalia-!"

Cotton recognises my moment of weakness and grabs for the knife again, and Brandit intercepts before I can even react. Within seconds she's yelping in pain as Brandit kicks her against the cornucopia- shielding me behind his legs as he brings his sword swinging down towards Cotton's nose.

"This is your _last chance_!" Brandit shouts, pressing the tip of the sword against Cotton's throat. "Get out of here! GET OUT!"

Slashing the sword away, Brandit harshly motions towards the edge of the rose dome. But Cotton just sits there, staring up at him like he's some sort of demon- before she backs against the cornucopia and rises to her feet.

"W-Why are you helping her...?" Her voice cracks into a wailing noise. "You understand s-he's just using you, right? She- She was just using everyone b-because she's weak! Can't you see that? Y-You should-!"

She suddenly falls silent. I sit on my heels, still unable to breathe as I watch Cotton flatten herself against the cornucopia under Brandit's furious stare. His hand tightens over the sword handle and the blade begins to shake with tremulous anger.

"It's you who doesn't understand." The voice that comes from Brandit is unlike anything I've ever heard from him. It's nothing short of pure, poisonous anger. "You're the one who is blind in all this Cotton. You're the _only one_ who can't see everyone for what they truly are."

There's a pause.

"...and Natalia doesn't need to use anyone..."

I feel my heart jump into my throat. Suddenly, Brandit turns and faces me. Reaching out his hand, he pulls me to my feet and pulls me into his side, staring down with Cotton as he holds my hollow body upright.

"-because I will protect her, no matter what."

-Ah-!

A few seconds pass in silence. Then Cotton shifts away, her eyes clenching tightly shut. Before I know it, she runs. I watch as her boots kick up the dirt as she sprints for the edge of the rose dome, using her arms to pull open a tiny opening to escape through. Cotton looks back for a fraction of a second before diving through the hole and disappearing- but the sounds of her choking sobs continue until she disappears completely into the woods.

...we're alone.

Brandit goes to pull away his arm, but without meaning to I grab onto it suddenly.

His face falls into a concerned expression. "I'm... I'm sorry Natalia-"

"No." I cut him off, feeling oddly breathless. "No it's... it's not your fault Brandit. I... I knew this would happen... it was never the best plan..."

Of course I knew this would happen. 'Capitol Careers'? What sort of idiot would actually believe something like that could work out for the long-term? I didn't really think that the group would stand strong... I knew it'd break eventually... but...

"...what am I going to do now...?"

Showing weakness isn't something I want to be doing, but I'm too worn- emotionally and physically- to bother pretending anymore. All the work I did to put myself in a position of power has disintegrated, and now- while I am certainly better off than the others- I no longer have my team of pseudo-careers to fight for me.

"Quit being so self-absorbed Natalia."

The boy's surprisingly sharp words cause me to go rigid. But when I look at him, expecting the same harsh expression he had shown Cotton, I am instead met with a familiar smile.

With gentle hands, Brandit turns me to face him directly. Then, with both hands on my shoulders, he leans in close until our eyes are parallel and our noses are so close that they brush together. And with that same grin that taunted me with hypothetical kisses as the rain fell, he corrects-

"What are _we _going to do now?"

...

It's impulse. I'm too worn out to bother pretending anymore. The villain of these games inside me disappears, and I allow myself to revert back to the girl I was before this whole mess. My cheeks puff up in a pout as I brush Brandit's arms off me and stare up at him.

"I'm going to do something I should've done the first time I met you," I mutter sourly, putting my hands on his shoulders.

There's only a brief moment of surprise on Brandit's face as I abruptly grabbed the back of his head- bunching my fingers in the shorter hair at the back and violently pulling his mouth against mine.

* * *

_Koriana Wilder; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 8._

It's freezing and I'm beyond exhausted. No matter where I stretch out my hands, trying to feel my way around the dark of this cave, all that meets my fingertips is more ice. This is my only means of finding my way around now that my legs have gone numb from the biting cold and my flashlight stopped functioning after it slipped out of my shaking hands.  
While I tried to fix it, it didn't end up doing much good; the spare batteries fell from my hands and clattered in the darkness, lost forever. I cried for a while after that, since that was the first time I truly realised how hopeless this all is.

"_I want to go home._" I had snivelled, wrapping my arms tightly around my shaking body. "_I just want to go home._"

It took time for me to be strong enough to start moving again. At times I considered going back, back the way I came, only to know in my heart that it would be impossible. I'd die before reaching that hole I fell through. There were so many twists, turns and forked passages- I'd just end up more lost than I am now.

My only hope is to keep moving, to keep struggling forwards no matter how much slush and ice my fingertips meet. As much as my body begs me to let it rest, I know I can't do that. Each time I wake up in this cave I feel that much colder, that much frailer; no matter where I fall asleep, it's another pile of melted ice by the time I wake.

I have to find a way out of here. My chest may be tight and my digits on both my feet and hands might be starting to feel a bit funny, but I can't let that slow me down. I just have to keep going until I start to see the light of outside.  
But that might be a problem if it's night... I could completely miss a potential exit because of how dense the canopy is; blocking out the moonlight and any chance of noticing a way out.

...what if I've already passed by it without realising...?

"No... no, I haven't missed anything. That's just... paranoia... just paranoia."

In order to keep myself from bursting into tears at every turn, I had begun talking aloud whenever I began to doubt myself. At first it was a lot more frequent, but as I've slowly become exhausted from the cold, pain and the effort it takes to crawl- my little words of encouragement have gradually disappeared.

The rest of Panem must have counted me out of the running by now, fumbling blindly around in the dark with no means of escape. Pausing to draw in a long, painful breath- I wonder how everyone else is faring. I haven't heard the sounds of any cannons, so I can only assume that no one else has died since the day I fell into these caverns.  
The only problem is... I have no idea who that last cannon was for. And it's been haunting me.

Who of the sixteen was it? Was it one of the Capitol careers? Or was it one of the other alliances, Saint-Claire and her Sector partner, the tall dark skinned boy from seven or the little boy from eleven? Or was it one of Diego's friends... or Diego himself...?

The walls of my throat close together as I try to swallow and shake myself free of that painful thought.

"No... it can't have been for him... it wasn't him..."

Diego wouldn't let himself die so carelessly. Not when he's fighting for the future of Panem. I know that the cannon I heard wasn't singing his name. It was someone else. Not Diego. It couldn't have been him. He's too strong, and he has friends to support him. No. Not Diego. It can't have been... it was not Diego...

It's not until I hit my head against a sudden wall of ice and bite my tongue that I realise I've been murmuring the words 'Not Diego' aloud. Hurt and embarrassed, I sit up in the pitch black of the cave and exhale a long, shuddering sigh.

...everyone at home must think I'm done for... Mom and Dad have probably barred Damon from watching the television at this stage. It wouldn't do any good- he'd see the footage eventually- but that's exactly what they'd do. Why screw up their remaining children by having them watch their sibling die?

I don't know what I truly want. I know in my heart that I don't want them to look away from me- even for an instant- because it would mean that I'm truly and completely alone here in this frozen labyrinth. But I can't subject them to the torture of watching me slowly dying either...

But I won't die. I can't... dying would mean that _they _win. Not the other tributes, but the ones who are behind all of this pain all of us are feeling, the ones behind the pain of all the tributes before us.

Just as I am thinking this, a dancing light catches my eye. For a moment I think it's just an illusion, a trick my eyes are playing on me. But it doesn't disappear. I begin to breathe faster as I scramble towards it, wondering if I've finally found my way out of here, but I realise that the light is coming _up _out of the ground rather than down from above.

The nearer I crawl towards the hole the light is emanating from the more puddles of melted ice splash about my hands and knees. For some reason the ice here has melted and thinned to reveal the original rock walls of this cavern. It still feels agonizingly cold to me, so I can't understand why that would be.

I reach the source of the light, and as I stop to examine it I'm suddenly aware of my loud, ragged breaths. I'm really on the verge of passing out. My heart is hammering in my ribcage and everything is trembling as I peer over the hole radiating very slight warmth and an ominous light.  
Gazing down the plate sized gap, I can feel my vision wavering as something far, far, far, far- _far_ below ripples gently. It's an odd sight, like watching someone's stomach rise and fall with their breaths. But it's different. It almost looks like an ocean only... it's not... water...

As the red waters continue to rock themselves far beneath my hands and feet, I feel my insides shrivel up in horror.

Oh my god.

Something bubbles atop its surface, and the molten beast gurgles warningly- sending the tiniest of shivers through the earth and the ice cavern.

Oh god. Oh god.

I push myself backwards, shaking my head frantically as if my contesting what I just saw will make it disappear altogether. My throat begins to close up as I scramble away, slipping and crashing in the ice puddles as I desperately try to put as much distance between myself and that hell as quickly as possible.

It's an ocean of lava. I choke on my gasps as I bang my head against a wall. Blind, I can hear myself crying- pleading- splashing about pointless in the pools of slush.

"...no... please... no..."

What little I can see begins to fade as my head starts to lighten. The ice burn in my knees and hands begins to lessen as everything starts to give out to the exhaustion I had been staving off in search of hope.

But I don't have hope. I have worse than no hope..! I've gone and trapped myself in the dark between the forest floor, where the other tributes wage their battles, and the ocean of lava the Gamemakers are having lie in wait for us-!

"_No_." I begin to curl my body inwards, tucking my knees into my chest as my body tremors violently. "I can't... I can't...!"

I can't die. I can't kill. I can't play this game.

I want to live. I want to feel safe. I want to see Damon and Marabeth.

Why...? Why did I... why did I have to fall...? Could it have been different had I chosen a different path? Would things have been different if I... if I had said yes to Diego's offer...?

...Diego...

As a blinding white blinds and envelops me, I feel hot tears burn the corners of my eyes. The molten rock far below gurgles while an inhuman roar rumbles, and I let out the last of my energy in one final, worthless cry for help.

"...Diego...!"

* * *

_Julian Farraday; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 12._

The mud left from the rain has hardened over the skin of my cheek. I lay here with my eyes gently closed, as all the moisture slowly disappeared into the soil, ultimately left with nothing but the worthless shell of the dirt caked over my face.

It wasn't enough. The rain wasn't enough. Wetting my tongue only staved off my deranged state, it didn't give me back any strength. I tried to stumble on. I tried to find a source of water, a source of food... but my body refused.

...and I collapsed... and I remained where I fell... too exhausted to move... too weak to even try.

_This is how I'm going to die_.

It's not at all like I imagined it being. I had guessed it would be more... majestic; a fight to the death, or a blazing inferno. Before the Quell card was read out, I had assumed my death was open to all possibilities. Drug-overdose, alcohol poisoning, bar-fight... perhaps even old age had my partying days died down as I assumed they one day would.  
...haha... that's right... I might have grown out of all this... the partying, drinking... the damn feathers...

I try to move my fingers, but my body doesn't respond. So I continue lying still, barely able to breathe through the mud and decomposing leaves.

Or maybe... maybe I would've been an idiot all my life... I feel something inside me twinge as I think this. The only reason I began to smarten up now was... was because of my mortality being placed in front of me... by Nikolai and... and by her...

_See you in Heaven_.

I don't deserve Heaven. What did Julian Healthcliffe Farraday ever do to deserve the eternal kingdom...? Nothing... nothing compared to the others... they deserve an endless paradise. I... I don't know... what I deserve...  
Before this moment I never... I never really considered there being a Heaven. Even now, I have reason to doubt. What sort of place, made of nothing but good, could exist whilst over a century of child-slaughter went on beneath their clouds? Unless Heaven watches the world like its own personal Hunger Game... if that's the case... I pray for Hell...

My heartbeat is in my ears, beating slowly, like feet up a stairway. Thump. Thump. Higher and higher... into nothing... going nowhere...

...I hope Odette isn't crying over me. They're probably all crying. 'Get up Julian,' they're saying. 'Keep going. It's not that much further.' While I don't know what they're really saying, I manage to open my eyes a crack and whisper out words that probably no camera can hear-

"Too far..."

Closing my eyes again, I inhale deeply. The smell of the fallen rain still lingers... mixed with the scent of the forest floor... joined by the trilling of a far-away bird.

...this place... it's not such a bad place to die... it's far more beautiful than an alleyway or a public bathroom... whichever way I was going to go... I'd almost prefer this to a Heaven...

It'd be nice to tell them I'm okay with this. While my body aches as if my flesh is about to fall off my very bones... and even the saliva has ceased to form in my mouth... I'm... I'm okay with this...

...I'm just tired... tired of wasting my life... and ready to start whatever comes after...

What I would do for the strength to talk, to rattle off a long list of goodbyes and apologies. I never wrote a final will and testament. They'll probably just sell my things and hope to move on... I hope they do... move on...

"_...I'm... probably not going to make it out of this thing alive..._"

At least the old man won't blame himself. That's one person I don't need to worry about... I'd like to say he's used to this by now... used to having two children die each year... but I can tell he isn't. The poor guy blames himself each and every time.  
...glad... glad I met him... Nikolai...

Something louder than my heartbeat reverberates in my ears. I stir from my endless spout of thoughts, but I do not wake. There's no point. No point.

"...are you... are you still alive...?"

No. I imagine saying these words and I feel a smile inside my heart. That would be funny.

"...hello...?"

It's a woman's voice. An unsure, wary sounding lady...

...I wonder... how her voice would have sounded... with her tongue... curling and forming the sounds and the words...

...I bet it was a beautiful voice...

Something, a foot perhaps, nudges into my side. My body makes an involuntary gurgle, which causes the young lady to jump back. But I don't move. I can't. Let her end it. Whether I lie here... slowly dying of thirst and hunger... or whether she plunges a blade into my body... it doesn't matter...

Hands fumble at my back, clumsily trying to pull the pack free from my arms. With a slight noise of discomfort, a slender hand takes hold of my arm and quickly pulls the strap across and over my arm. With one side unhooked, it doesn't take her long to pull the other side free and scramble away from me.

...and just like that... she's gone... came for what she wanted... and left... as quickly as she came...

Whoever it was, I make a final wish that she put the things to better use than I did. That she and I don't have to meet again... not for a long time...  
I hope my family doesn't see her as a thief... blame her for my death... I've had enough... enough of the pointlessness... things are... simpler than that...

Something in the air around me begins to quiver. Without needing confirmation, I decide it is the curtains falling on my part of this story. And as they fall... it will all become black... and I can turn and leave... and shake hands with the woman who made the final act... perhaps... perhaps we can talk for a while...

I'd very much like to... to hand her a bouquet for her performance... a bouquet of flowers and feathers...

The stage begins to tremble.

"_See you in Heaven._"

* * *

_Minerva Nanaia; 18 years; the Capitol Sector 4._

Even though he didn't resist, my heart hasn't slowed down since I removed the pack from the guy's body. I think he was from Sector 12, along with the young girl I can't recall. I ran for a little while, to put some space between me and his body, but that didn't ease my nerves in the slightest.

He wasn't dead. There haven't been any cannons in such a long time after all. He was alive... but barely. His body was still warm, but the mud was hardened over his face like paint.

For the first time in these games since the bloodbath, I felt scared.

The backpack the boy had is much smaller than the others I had seen at the bloodbath. It's absolutely smeared with mud and grit, camouflaging it well, but I don't think was done on purpose. I wait until I'm a good distance away before opening the pack and inspecting its contents.  
Moving aside a threadbare blanket caked with dry mud, I find a filthy and decidedly empty water canister. I wrinkle my nose in disappointment- everything looks like it was dragged through the storm- until I fish around in the bottom of the bag to find a can of aerosol and a box of matches, neither of which seem to have been used.

Uncapping the aerosol can, I gingerly sniff at the nozzle and immediately hold it at arm's length from the bitter smell. It stinks of repellent. I can only assume this is meant to be a make-shift weapon- to be combined with the matches- only that's a really ineffective method of attack. From what I understand, these pressurized cans explode if you use them like flamethrowers.

I suddenly recall the girl who leapt from her plate and the explosion that followed. With a shudder, I hastily shove the aerosol can back into the pack beside the matches.

There was no reason to expect much help from the backpack; the boy was dying. He had gotten all the use he possibly could of out of it. While his remaining supplies might not be very useful to me right now, I'm not picky enough to turn my nose up at what could potentially save me in the long run, particularly when the days are starting to wear on like this. It won't be long before Crane and her Gamemakers decide it's time to bring out their bag of tricks.

Just thinking of that Iilvsea Crane makes my eye twinge with an intense enmity. While it is now day five in the arena, and my outburst was late on the second day, I haven't forgotten it- and I'm sure that she hasn't either. The chance that she didn't see it is a certain zero. One of the Gamemakers would have watched, surely, and known that I was talking to her.

'The daughter of Head Gamemaker Nanaia', they probably call me. I dig my nails into my elbows and bite my bottom lip in anger. They probably love watching me suffer like this, struggling through an arena my own father orchestrated. Those... those _bastards _think it's funny...

I want to make them pay for what they've done. For taking away all my parents' hard work... ousting them out of their positions that they strived so hard for, all that time and effort... like it meant _nothing_.  
Iilvsea Crane doesn't deserve the title of Head Gamemaker simply by coasting along on her grandfather's good name. Not like my father did. He worked and suffered, while she just...

Stop it. Stop it Minerva. Stop thinking this. My teeth sink harder into my lip and I hiss in pain. There's no point in getting worked up over this again. All it will do is leave me with all this anger and nothing to do with it.

As I push on ahead, clearing my mind by mentally planning out the rest of the day, the cannon sounds and silences the whole world around me.

...I guess the guy finally died.

While my head is still filled with what I can remember of him- all the mud, filth and dirt that coated his body- I manage to dispel this with a few choice pleasant thoughts of home. Vidar and I discussing my story plots. Whistling simple tunes to Tweets. The last family meal I can remember sharing with the entire family.

These memories soothe my heart, but rather than make me feel at ease they only inflict upon me a whole new state of melancholy. Whatever anger I had felt before is replaced with a wistful sensation in my heart.  
I want to go home. To just... have everything back the way it was... before everything became so... so horribly messed up.

Now melancholy, I begin distracting myself from my pleasant memories by thinking of nothing but my surroundings. I focus on each of the trees I pass and the various markings that scar their bark. I pay attention to the leaves crunching below my feet, the twigs that crackle beneath my boots. Finally, I listen hard to the sounds of the forest around me, the wind whistling far above my head, and come to realise that, for the first time, I cannot hear a single bird.

...wait... why...? Why aren't any of the birds-?

My boot kicks against something hard. Startled, I stumble a few steps back and glance downwards. Buried in leaves and crusty with mud, the small plastic bottle- the sort that contains medicinal tablets- lies, tab unbroken. As I bend over to pick it up, I see that the label has been smeared to the point of being unreadable- but I can see the word 'enhance' barely intact on the sticker. Holding it aloft and squinting to read more- I feel my heart beat fast as the pills inside rattle merrily.

...what is something like this doing just lying here...? Surely no tribute in their right mind would willingly throw something like this away. Whatever a tribute can get they should be thankful for; disregarding that is ungrateful.

As I rub my thumb over the label, I hear something in the forest behind me begin to hum.

* * *

_Marshall Matthews; 14 years; the Capitol Sector 2._

Today has been almost too good to be true. All three of us are well-fed and rested, there's no sign of any vicious tributes- and not just one sponsor gift, but _two _that came floating down to greet us today while we continued travelling alongside the stream.

The first was a simpler gift of a reasonably sized loaf of bread and a brand new canteen filled with water. Diego divided it up right away into equal portions, revealing the inside was filled with grains and nuts. Usually I prefer plain white bread, but this isn't exactly a buffet- we have to take what we can get.

"What are you expecting, chocolate?" Monty snarks, bopping me lightly on the head.

We couldn't divide the water though, so we let Diego hold it inside of his bag. I couldn't help but think if I had partnered up with any other tribute- I'd suspect them of trying to steal the canteen for themselves. There's none of that here.

I trust these two, completely.

Just as I was thinking that, the second sponsor gift comes floating down from above, filling my chest with an excitement I could liken to a holiday.

_Two _sponsor gifts! We get _two_?

"We're practically rolling in supplies!" I whoop as Monty laughs quietly, shaking his head. "This is insane! Thank you!" I cup my hands around my mouth and shout, unable to control my happiness.

"Be quiet Marshall, we do not know who might be nearby," Diego warns me, but there's a very definite smile on his face too.

Chuckling slightly, I sway from one foot to the other- practically bouncing with glee. "Alright, I'll keep a lid on it."

This was a pun. We've been sent three bowls of beef stew, each capped with a secure lid for travel purposes. The Capitol obviously understands how the Games work. A tribute can be eating one second, running for their lives the next- and then later they might want to finish their breakfast.

We haven't had much hassle in these Games yet. I think the Gamemakers have been holding off on us, at least for the most part. The rain was a bit annoying, but aside from that we haven't run into any trouble since the initial bloodbath where I punched that Sector partner of mine in the face.  
I can't help but wonder how that witch is going. What with our promise to kill the other, it hasn't come as a surprise to me that she's not dead yet. Sure, it'd be a nice surprise to see her face in the sky rather than all these kids who never posed a problem- but we can't have everything we want.

Each of us takes a lidded bowl of stew and quickly nestles them deep into our duffel bags, saving them for later. By the way Diego has been talking it seems we're getting closer to the source of the water and should be there by the time the sun goes down.  
We still haven't addressed the problem of what we do once we _get there_, but we're in such a good mood because of the gifts that no one bothers to ask.

As we walk in a content silence- it's hard for Diego and Montserrat to maintain conversation for too long- and keep our eyes on the stream, it startles us all to hear the jarring sound of one of the death cannons.

"Was that-?" Montserrat asks, suddenly alert.

"Yeah." I narrow my eyes and glance around. There's no way of telling if it was close or not. "Sixteen left."

Saying the number makes the entire world suddenly seem so much emptier. Eight of the original twenty-four are dead and gone forever.

Diego looks at the sky grimly.

"Who do you think it was?"

He wants to know if it was Koriana. The pained way his eyes flit from me to Montserrat says it all. 'Was that my Sector partner?' they plead. 'Was that Koriana?'

Biting the inside of my cheek, I pull my attention away from him. "I don't know."

Even if I did know for sure it was her, I don't think I could ever break the news to him. For some reason I just know that the damage would be irreparable.

"We should get moving again," Montserrat says suddenly. "We have no idea what caused the last death."

To my surprise, Diego shakes his head. He's never disagreed with Monty before. "Moving could draw attention to us. We need to be still."

The moment he says to be still, I feel the strongest of urges to move as much as possible. I fight it down inside me though, causing my shoulders to twinge uncomfortably.  
I wish it was nightfall already. That the seal would light up the sky and whoever just died would look down and calm our fears.  
But there's nothing we can do but stand still until it seems safe again to move. The silence circles around- until we hear it.

In the distance it hums ominously. Quiet at first, but steadily getting louder- clearer. The very air seems to tremble with its vibrations. Beads of sweat form and roll down from my hairline as I exchange glances with Diego and Montserrat. Expressions change from caution into alarm- then quickly to terror.

Diego roars the words just as Monty and I recognise how much danger we're in.

"PANEM HIVE!"

We run for our lives. Duffel bag slamming into my back as I sprint- leaping over over-sized roots of the trees- all the compressed fear I've been feeling these past few days explodes into a surge of panicked adrenaline as I propel forwards through the forest- still splashing along the bank of the stream.

Somewhere behind me, Diego shouts- "DON'T SLOW DOWN!"

"Shit- shit- shit!" Montserrat curses frantically ahead of me, just loud enough for me to hear.

A Panem Hive is the easier way of saying 'Panemized Honey Bees.' They're bred from the nastiest little insects in the world- territorial to the point of chasing intruders _a mile _away. Small, wicked fast and travelling in hives of _thousands_- their stingers are likened to be stabbed by a tiny burning knife- and while it takes a shitload of them to kill you, take too many and you'll be screaming for days-!

The noise is deafening. The bees are angry- and they're storming after us like a furious, buzzing cloud. I don't dare look back- slowing down and being enveloped by the hive could mean death- and being stung a few times could render me incapable of fighting back against future trouble-!

Mud splashes and slicks against my boots as I fight as hard as I can not to fall over. The ground is getting unstable and I see Montserrat stumble and let out a shout as he grabs onto a tree root and pulls himself up just in time to start running again. Somewhere behind us Diego runs, carrying two of the duffel bags and panting steadily-

Suddenly, I hear Diego give a shout- and before I turn instinctively to see if the worst has happened- I see what he's shouting about.

We've reached it.

The source of the stream. A small, crystal blue lake, encircled in ice- spread before the entrance to what looks to be an ice cavern. Unlike the golden lake- the waters are clear and safe, as some of the overflowing water trickles and forms the stream we followed.

Before I can feel too pleased, the panic comes back as Diego howls-

"GET IN THE CAVE!"

There's no time to question, and no way to do anything else. Because the moment we're within range of its mouth- Diego slams himself against Montserrat and I, throwing us onto the cavern floor while wrapping his arms protectively around the both of us. The sound of the bees is amplified as the tiny living darts bounce inside the cavern. I scrunch myself into a ball under him- feeling Montserrat shouting something unintelligible over the disappearing roar of the bees- but a minute or two passes before the buzzing vanishes and Diego lifts himself up before either of us can open our eyes.

Blood trickling down his forehead from the impact against the floor, Diego shakily pushes himself up and slumps against the ice cavern wall. The sunlight bounces off the lake and illuminates him, causing Montserrat to exhale hard through his teeth and dig about in our duffel bag for the medical supplies.

In his arms, quivering from the pain, the stingers are buried. I try to count them as I lay sprawled out on the ice- but there are so many that it makes my stomach churn. The big guy grinds his teeth together, closing his eyes as Monty begins plucking them out muttering that it isn't likely to be fatal. All I can do is watch in awe as Diego slowly opens his eyes and looks at me weakly.

"...did... did any get you...?"

He's... he's only worried about us. I can feel my eyes water as he looks at me with a concern I've only seen my mother look at me with, and before I know it I push myself forwards and throw my arms around him.

"M-Marshall-!" Monty yelps, falling backwards. "I haven't gotten them all yet-!"

But I can't speak. The adrenaline melts away into a sense of helplessness as I scream into Diego's jacket, not caring that all of Panem can see the weakness.

I've never had anyone take pain for me. It's always been me. It's always-!

"It is okay..." Diego murmurs, patting me on the shoulder. "I will be fine."

Wiping the tears away with the heel of my palm, I pull away from him and glance outside at our prize; the spring of crystal-like water. While I can see a few still straggling bees fell into its waters, ruining its once pristine surface, I can't help a small sense of peace.

Everything will be fine.

As long as we're together, everything will be fine.

* * *

**Capitol Question #23; do you believe your family/friends could forgive you were you to kill in the Hunger Games?**


	49. Trust with Your Whole Heart

**A Vivid Note: **This chapter marks the long hoped-for 300, 000 word mark for 'the Capitol Games.' This is such an accomplishment, and I'm just so glad to have given this work my all and to have reached this point with you.  
I want to thank you. Thank you so very, very much. I've been nominated for several of the seasonal awards, won quite a few of them, showcased on two fanfiction centric blogs and communities and just, all round, been treated so wonderfully by everyone. I'm slowly learning how to ease off the dashes and ellipses (albeit, struggling) bettering my characterization and basically being opened up to an entirely new level of writing.  
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I wish you so many wonderful things that words can't describe.

On another note, the idea of a potential YouTube serialisation of 'The Capitol Games' project has come about, and I wanted to put a little note here that if there is anyone in the readership who is even remotely interested in **voice acting **or **contributing** **art**, please say so in order for us to get a rough idea if this project is at all possible.

Also, if you see _any_ mistakes- whether they be spelling or grammatical- please tell me so I can fix them as soon as possible. I tend to make very silly ones and it's a huge help when a keen-eyed reader picks them out.

**Capitol Question #024; what would you say is your 'biggest fear'? (eg. Heights, spiders, cramped spaces, failure, being alone, etc.)**

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Vince Pace; 12 years; the Capitol Sector 11._

I had no idea this trick would be pulled off so easily! It's almost laughable how simple everything has been to predict so far. Little Miss Pop-Singer must have a soft spot for defenceless children- to be tearing her alliance apart at the seams, sharing her supplies, jeopardising her chances of survival- and it's all just for me! It takes all my will-power not to burst into laughter and mock the air-headed girl because of how blithely _stupid _she is!

Over the past two days I've steadily been deepening the distrust between the partners from 5, as well as slowly sneaking whatever supplies from the pair that I can. It hasn't been hard, since their attention seems to be mostly focused on each other- even when they're at different ends like this. Their bottle of antiseptic was easy to pilfer, and my dagger slipped almost too easily out of his pants' pocket- then just as effortlessly hidden inside of mine.  
The food has been harder. There wasn't much to begin with- just a few dregs of that stew they've been rationing- but I've managed to slowly eat most of it, guaranteeing that I'm in better shape than either of them.

Nothing has helped my right hand however. My cheek twitches in displeasure as I tense it, sending a surge of pain through the area. That bastard must have broken something. I've never injured my dominant hand before, so the entire situation is less than ideal, but I feel I can survive without it as long as there isn't any necessary climbing to do anytime soon... or intense stabbing.

It's not all bad news of course. While the brute might have disfigured my hand and foiled my chances of stealing the sleeping bag or that bow of theirs- and he broke my newly acquired blow gun beyond repair- he failed to take away the poison capsules.  
Without the darts there's no real way to inject the poison- at least not as easily- but over the past few days I've realised that a simpler plan has been under my nose, _literally _at some parts of the day, the whole time.

Which is why I take one long, final swig from the water canister, and as her back is turned while I'm sure Laco is preoccupied with staring furiously at her, I uncap the vial and tip the colourless liquid into the container.  
And just like that, it's done. I shove the empty vial into my pocket with its siblings, screw the lid back onto the bottle and shyly push it towards the non-suspecting Ari, who takes it in her hands and rests it carefully beside her.

Done.

"Thank you," I murmur in the most innocent voice I can conjure.

Ari closes her eyes kindly and smiles. "Any time Vincent,"

She's taken a liking to calling me that, even though my full name is just 'Vince' and it said so in the tribute booklet everyone received. Perhaps it makes me seem more endearing to her. Whatever the case, it pisses me off and makes me want her to gulp down her poison faster.

Since I didn't have a chance to use my darts on a test subject- no animals crossed my path before these two- I don't know if it will be quick or slow-acting. There's even a small chance that it won't be fatal- it might just be enough to knock the girl out- but I'm confident that even with my deadened hand I can take on her bodyguard. I'm small and fast, and if I can gouge the knife into his stomach with as little damage done to myself I can at least put him out of the running.

With any luck, by the end of today two cannons will have rung and there'll be only fourteen left in this arena. I'll work my way up to the top eight, taking advantage of blindly trusting tributes like these two until it's the final fight.

Then I'll show my mother what she can look forward to when I come home...

Suddenly, in the corner of my left eye I see her hand move. Ari reaches towards the water canteen, nursing it on her knee for a moment. I can't help but turn and watch in anticipation as she begins to unscrew the lid and raise the mouth of the bottle to her lips-

"PUT THAT DOWN!"

Almost from nowhere, Laco seizes the canteen from Ari's hands and yanks it away from her. Her face turns pale at first, but then it quickly grows red with anger.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Ari shouts, standing up and wrestling the bottle from his arms. "Are you out of your mind?"

Laco's eyes turn on me, and as quickly as I put on the terrified expression and begin the tears- I already know that there's no point. He probably had me figured out from the start and was just waiting until he could catch me.

"He's poisoned it." Still gripping the bottle, Laco steps towards me- cornering me against the tree. "I saw him. The darts are still in his pocket. I've been watching him because I knew the little bastard was going to pull something like this."

Of _course_ he was.

A few well placed tears might dispel these accusations and send Ari screaming down on top of this guy. But, as hard as I fight against it, I feel my jaw twitch and threaten to give it all away.

This doesn't go unnoticed.

"Look at him! The little shit knows he's caught!" Laco spits, grabbing my right arm and yanking me up the tree trunk just as he did two days ago. "What was your plan this time huh? Gonna poison her? Then what kid? What was your next move when I noticed!"

Tears trickling down my cheeks, I shake my head slowly and desperately. "I-I don't know what you're t-talking about!"

My performance pulls a wonderful cry of anguish from the pop-star. Sure enough, she grabs hold of her Sector partner and begins screaming again- just as she had on the first day.

"LET HIM GO LACO! HE DIDN'T DO ANYTHING-!"

All too quickly, I see those enraged eyes flare up just like they had before. Before I can think of doing anything, Laco forcibly pulls the bottle from Ari's hands- and within seconds the cap is thrown to the ground and the mouth of the bottle is push against my lips-

"DRINK IT THEN!" Laco practically foams at the mouth as I stare down in horror at the plastic nudging against my cheek. "GO ON THEN, IF YOU DIDN'T POISON IT! DRINK IT-!"

Damn it-! Damn this- damn it all-! I scrunch my eyes shut and turn my head, causing Laco's growl to turn into a full-blown roar as he tosses the bottle to the ground- causing it to splash up my legs and pool out onto the dirt.

"He was trying to _poison us _Ari!" Shoving his hand against my neck, he begins to lift me up the tree once more. "NOW DO YOU BELIEVE ME? NOW DO YOU UNDERSTAND? YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE TRUSTED HIM-! GET THE BOW-!"

Eyes watering, I barely catch the sight of Saint-Claire's horrified expression. My teeth are clenched together- so hard that they feel like they'll break- but my left hand is free. As Laco waits for an answer, for the bow, I shove my hand into my pocket and grip tight around the knife handle.

Somehow I knew it would end like this.

"You're right-!"

Something is mirroring what happened the first day, when I plunged the knife through Sapphire's jugular. The way Laco's eyes widen as my arm lashes forwards towards his stomach, slicing the blade across his side. How similar Liotta's and Ari's screams are as they watch. How strong I feel as my feet drop to the forest floor and Laco chokes from the pain.

"_NO-_!"

The second the guy pulls back and slumps to the ground with his hand clutching his side- I'm gone. Saint-Claire's shrieks fill the air, and I can hear a frantic scrambling going on behind me. There's no point in looking back. I have what I need, minus one of the two cannon shots I wanted I suppose. While it would've been nice to kill the girl, getting him instead isn't that bad of a trade.

Her scream pierces the entire forest.

She won't last long without him.

"-LACO! _LACO_-!"

Her voice begins to fade with distance as I run as far as my legs will take me, and slowly my laughter and her disappearing scream become the only things I can hear- even when I'm sure I've left the idiots from 5 far behind me.

As I slow to a stop, I look up for the cameras and give an exhausted grin, even though I can't help but wonder if anyone else thought their screams were similar.

Perhaps all girls just scream like that.

* * *

_Faye-Anna Cholores; 14 years; the Capitol Sector 6._

Our luck seems to have improved since the deer incident two days ago. Not only have we not run across any other tributes, but we actually found something amazing through our wandering, something more useful than anything we could ever hope to have sent in.

It's a small, beautiful spring of ice cold water. The sparkling waters look untouched by anything impure, and there's so much of it that it overflows into a little stream that disappears into the forest. The moment Ferroh and I laid our eyes on it we knew we had found our true camping ground in this arena.

"I don't think anyone else has been here," Ferroh says as he inspects the bank for footprints. "There'd be signs otherwise... so we must be the first to reach this place."

We spend a few moments in silent appreciation of the good fortune thrown our way. Since the gift of bread rolls and water was sent, not much else has happened. We did find some rather gross remains of what Ferroh insisted was a deer, but I of course assumed it was a person and felt like screaming in horror before Ferroh clamped his hand over my mouth.

I realised that I still haven't gotten over what I witnessed that night in the training centre. That... that _thing _beneath Miss Crane's feet... I can still remember it as vividly as when I saw it. That throbbing, pulsating mass of flesh and blood... like an organ sprawled out and beating on the tiled centre floor... it burned itself into my brain.  
Throwing up once wasn't enough it seems. Just thinking of it makes what little of the bread roll I had an hour ago want to come up again. So I distract myself by squatting beside the lake and dipping my finger into its cool waters.

"It's very pretty here," I say quietly, smiling weakly. "Everything in this place is, I suppose."

Ferroh makes a small noise of agreement. "It's kind of hard to recognise that, with the situation we're in and all."

For a brief second I want to ask what situation he might be talking about, before I remember why I'm here in the first place. This is a Hunger Game, and we're here to fight to the death. Not exactly a time to be admiring the forest that is in the process of weeding out the victor.

"I suppose... there are worse places to die..." I shift uncomfortably, staring down at the waters. "...aren't there?"

Of course there are. Face down in a gutter, after a long, painful sickness or simply old and dishevelled... completely alone. At least here, no one here is truly alone... with all of Panem watching with bated breaths to see who falls next.  
But I can admit... this isn't the best way to die either, obviously... just... there's nothing I can do. Nothing any of us can do. Being pessimistic won't change anything; it'll just make me depressed. It's just...

...I want to go home... I want all of us to go home... but as each day passes, I recognise more and more that that will never happen. There is no way for everyone to go home anymore. Last night when I saw the face of Sapphire's sector partner light up the sky I could feel my stomach fall.

Only one of us can go home. The rest of us must die, so one can survive...

"Faye?"

A shadow is cast over my face as Ferroh leans over me- and suddenly I realise that I've zoned out. My hand is completely submerged in the freezing water and has begun to go numb. Embarrassed, I pull it out and dry it hastily on the leg of my shorts.

"Sorry," I mutter.

Opening his mouth to speak, Ferroh is stopped by a sudden shudder that rumbles through the Earth. The sun disappears as something slowly blocks it from above. Both of us go rigid with alarm as something begins to creak and splinter loudly under an enormous weight- like...

I inhale slowly, gazing upwards as the sun is eclipsed beneath the monster's branches.

'_Timber_.'

His eyes rise upwards before mine, and before I've even scanned his face I know that Ferroh has already determined it all. Grabbing my arm and pulling me upwards- I barely have a moment to find my legs before Ferroh throws me over his shoulder and leaps forwards. I do my best to contain my scream as entire world begins to rumble under the collapsing giant. Everything goes dark under its enormous shadow- like the tree is crashing over the sun.

"AH-!"

Birds screeching and the tree audibly groaning block out all my senses my ally holds me tightly over his shoulder and runs for our lives. The entire forest is screaming as this forest giant falls to the ground- almost as if it's alive and in pain-!

Suddenly Ferroh's balance wavers, and there's only a split second between realising this and smacking hard into the dirt. I let out a cry and blindly throw my arms out to protect my body from the fall- but this just sends a searing pain through the skin as all the twigs that are raining down scratch and claw me as I slam against them. Somewhere behind me I can hear Ferroh cursing- but it's drowned out by the chaotic noise all around us. Still momentarily stunned- I go blank for a moment as a sudden rush of hot air blasts out from the tree- seconds before the entire world shudders violently under its weight.

Almost a few minutes pass before it quietens down again. The birds fly off to a safer place, and the world stops trembling from the impact. All that's left now is the fallen giant- easily the width of a room and as long as a street- lying still... exactly over our beautiful new campsite was. While it hadn't fully hit the ground- it had wedged between several other trees that had managed to refrain from falling over- it blocked off our access from the little cave and adjoining lake.

An overwhelming sadness looms over me. '_But... that's so unfair... we just... we just found it..._'

My heart beats painfully in my chest. This isn't fair. None of this is fair. It's like they want to torture us in any way possible. Being in these games isn't enough... we have to be miserable...

"...are you alright, Faye?"

Turning, I see that Ferroh is clutching his side. Carrying me over his shoulder and running must have hurt him with that cracked rib. As he kneels next to me, I struggle to operate my mouth and tell him that I'm okay, but instead a horrible strangled noise comes out as tears flood my eyes.

"...I-I'm not okay... I'm not okay..."

And without warning, I curl myself up into a ball and begin to sob- only feeling slight comfort when he wraps his arms around my shoulders and soothes me with a gentle hush.

I want to go home... I want to go home...

* * *

_Ari Saint-Claire; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 5._

The tears and snot leave my face feeling hard as I struggle just to continue breathing, my arms wrapped protectively around Laco's shoulders. He murmurs words of reassurance- that it's not that deep, that as long as we keep pressure on it that it will heal- but everything washes over me as the truth echoes ruthlessly inside my head.

'_You did this Ari,_' the voice is cold and unforgiving as it snarls. '_It's all your fault. It's completely your fault. Laco told you. He told you-!_'

Choking, I try to swallow my agony and continue cradling him, but the hissing in my head is ruthless and refuses to let up. Tears continue brimming and spilling across my cheeks and dripping onto Laco's face which I desperately try to dry up as quickly as they fall.  
My fault. All my fault. Blood is smeared across his and my hands as we both press to keep the wound from worsening. It's sticky and warm and makes me want to cry even harder.

Grimacing, Laco curls his body slightly and winces. "Please stop crying..."

My shoulders jerk up and down slightly as I try, _really _try to stop myself from falling into loud, rocking sobs- but even though I stop myself from a full-on fit of hysteric wails, I can't stop the tinier tears that leak from the corners of my eyes and curve their way to my jaw-line- dripping into the black of Laco's roughly cut hair.  
This shouldn't have happened. All the time I wasted wanting him to trust me; I should have just trusted him. From the very beginning he's put his whole self into protecting me, and I... I've been taking it for granted...

Laco's hands are still scarred from where he wrenched the thorns apart for me to cross through. His body is dirty from shielding me from rain and cold. My shaking fingertips gently touch upon his forehead, seeing the scar he received in the training room with Natalia.

Each of these is because of me. Every wound, scar and mark that scars his body is proof of his undying dedication that I was almost stupid enough to throw away. From the very start Laco has done nothing but protect me. He kept me calm on the chariots by holding my hand and distracting me with the dance. He risked himself against Natalia to defend me. He sung rather than fought in his training session to stand by me. Throughout the party he stood close and protected me; listening to my story and holding me when I cried.

And the night before these Games began... he held me even as I tried to hurt him...

Even now, when I'm stupid enough to let a child dupe us out of supplies, he continues to stay by my side...

Not once did Laco Sykora give up on me...

"...why..."

As I speak, Laco wearily opens his eyes and looks up at me. My eyes are wet and my mouth is dry while I struggle to find the words I need.

"...why do you want to protect me so much...? H-How can you stand doing this to yourself- all those scars- all this pain-?" Jaw quivering, I clench my eyes tightly shut. "What could I have _done to deserve all this _from you!"

The birds of the forest sing quietly as a high wind rustles through the canopy.

"Do you... believe in fate, Ari?"

Inhaling slowly, my heart begins to slow as Laco continues to watch me from my lap. The silver flecked throughout his eyes glints almost knowingly as a faint smile curls across his lips.

"...you weren't meant to be chosen Ari..." Reaching up with his left hand, I flinch as his hand cups over my cheek. "On the day of the reaping... I saw George pull your name from inside her coat..."

The air rushes from my lungs as I suddenly feel cold. George rigged the reapings... so I would be chosen? The realisation makes something inside of me feel hollow, like the part of me that grew because of being this ordeal has been false from the beginning.  
Only... that feeling disappears as quickly as it came as I feel the warm hand on my cheek reach up to tenderly stroke my hair.

"I... I forget... how many times I gave up on this life." Smiling, Laco runs his fingers through my hair once more. "Doing stupid things like choking down pills and sawing open my arms... but something kept me from dying... and it weren't until I saw you that I realised what it was."

He gazes up at me and says- with that adoring, reassuring smile only he possesses-

"This is my agenda. You are. You're my fate, Ari."

And, almost as if to prove this, he withdraws his hand from my hair and dips it into his pocket. I lean forwards to accept what the object he holds out- and I find myself holding a small folded handkerchief, slightly dirty from the rain and earth, with 'A.S' embroidered in the corner.

I don't understand. My head is spinning and my heart is still beating so hard from his words. Everything feels muddled. I should be feeling hurt, betrayed that my part in these Games was decided against me... but all my heart can grasp is that without it... I would never have found this boy.

"What is this supposed to mean?"

"You don't get it?" With a smirk, Laco reaches up and places his hands over mine, running our thumbs over the embroidery. "Look closely at the letters."

With his warm hands on mine, I slowly forget of the blood that is stained into his pores and find myself mouth the letters "A.S...?"

Smiling a little wider, Laco's eyes sparkle almost mischievously.

"These would be your initials if you married me."

_Ari Sykora._

For the first time in a long while, I let out an audible squeak of surprise and drop the handkerchief in shock as Laco chuckles softly. He holds it up for me to wipe away my tears, which have begun to resurface, but I don't take it.

"I still don't understand you," I whisper, hoping my embarrassment doesn't show on my face. "All this time I've been fighting against you protecting me... I put us in danger when I let... I let _him_..."

There's no way to finish the sentence. Just saying it aloud makes me feel unimaginable guilt and an urge to curl up and disappear in shame. I put this wonderful guy's life in so much danger, and he still looks at me with that wonderful smile...

With a shuddering breath, I let out a quiet mumble.

"You should hate me for what I did."

Tucking the handkerchief carefully back in his pocket, Laco just continues to look at me with the same gentle smile, not faltering for an instant.

"I could never hate you. Not when I'm so proud of you."

His words make me stiffen in surprise. Inhaling sharply and suddenly, I wonder how on Earth he could say something like after what just transpired. After everything I put him through.

Smile breaking into a grin, Laco shakes as the tears slowly form in his eyes.

"I told you not to let people push you around; including me... and you finally listened...! You actually believe me now, Ari."

At these words, I finally lose the battle with my tears. It all floods forth at once- tears, snot and loud, wailing sobs- and for the first time in my life I let myself stop pretending as I throw myself over Laco, burying my face in his chest and bawling my eyes into his tribute jacket.

"I love you-!" I choke, rubbing my face into the folds of his shirt. "I-I love you...!"

A gentle hand touches my head, rubbing affectionately against my hair.

"I love you too, Ari."

* * *

_Brandit Gailer; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 6._

"Who do you hate more, Cotton or Marshall?"

Natalia's shoulders rise up with tension at the sound of their names, and with an unamused frown she looks at me with sour eyes.

"What does it matter? I hate them both."

I laugh a little under my breath at the annoyance in her tone as she says this. She's still trying so hard to look strong, to be the bad guy of these games- even though she must now that she isn't fooling anyone, especially not me. Even now I can recall the taste and the sensation of her lips against mine. No amount of irritated glares can erase that!

Prodding for an answer, I roll over onto my stomach and prop myself up on my elbows. "Come on, who do you hate more? Tell me."

"Why should I tell you?" Natalia sighs, stretching out her legs and leaning against the inside of the cornucopia. "It's not important."

"Tell me or I'll '_humiliate_' you~!"

This gets the reaction I want. A burning red sears across Natalia's face and she scowls and looks away before I can enjoy her expression too much. It's funny how something as seemingly simple as being fond of someone can change your entire perception of them.

"Out of the two of them... if _I had_ to choose," Natalia adds bitterly. "It'd be Marshall."

Perking an eyebrow, I tilt my head sideways. "Really? Even after Cotton pulled a knife on you?"

"Need I remind you that Marshall punched me in the face," Natalia says- jerking a thumb at her scabbed cheek. "Besides, I may detest that bimbo- but she won't survive long on her own. It'd be a waste."

A waste of hatred, now where have I heard that idea before? I tilt my head the other way and continue watching Natalia as she rests her hands atop her knees and stares out into the sky of roses. She was seemed so meek and, dare I say it, tender yesterday- only for her to revert right back to her usual mask of frustration the moment she saw Farraday's face in the sky last night.

"_So he finally died._" Her voice was a little breathless. "_He did better than I thought he would._"

While it was worded as compliment, it was clear that the boy who she had counted as one of our group but deserted us to fight it off on his own lasting five whole days bothered Natalia_ immensely_. I felt it was best not to say anything, although I couldn't help understanding her frustration. She's still having a hard time accepting that her 'Capitol-Careers' plan didn't pan out.

It's a bit tempting to tease her with more lines like 'you still have _me_'- but I don't thinks she's quite there yet. Yesterday is still too fresh in her mind, and prodding at that wound too soon could ruin the already delicate relationship we have.

Sighing, Natalia looks back at me. "So, who do you think will go next?"

"I really couldn't guess," I say with a shrug. "All the younger tributes are already dead, aren't they?"

"Not all of them." Natalia looks outside again. "The twelve year old from 11 is still out there."

"Alright, so all but one are dead."

"-and your Sector partner. What's her name?"

My body goes still. Confused by my silence, Natalia looks back at me with a curious look.

"What? Is something wrong?"

These past few days have been so... busy, I haven't had time to think of Faye-Anna. Before the games began we saw each other often in the dining room at breakfast and dinner- and on the night of the interviews we sat side by side. However since the Games began I haven't seen any sign of her.  
I don't know why it bothers me, thinking of the girl, but all her name inspires in me is a horrible sense of guilt. The child was terrified of me since the beginning because I had volunteered.

Curiosity turns to concern as Natalia moves closer to me, reaching out and gingerly placing her hand on my shoulder.

"...Brandit?"

"...that girl... was so frightened of me." I bury my face in my hands. "...thinking about it makes my head hurt..."

"Huh?" Natalia sits in front of me, contemplating my words. "Why was she scared? Did you threaten her?"

"N-No, of course not!" I exclaim, looking up suddenly. "I'm not..." My voice dwindles into a murmur. "...I'm not that kind of person..."

She waits a moment for me to break the silence, but there's nothing I can say. On the inside I'm at ends with myself, begging for what I just said to be true. I'm not a cruel person. I don't think I am, but the one act I did that makes me doubt myself is one I still can't find a solid reason for.

I volunteered, and for seemingly no reason at all. People volunteer for fame and glory, to experience the forbidden thrill of taking a life. In my heart I know I didn't hand myself over to the games in order to kill others- and I don't believe I did it for recognition... so why did I do it?  
I can remember Natalia when she was so angry at Cotton yesterday, her furious words as she pointed out that Cotton had volunteered for this torture. At the time they meant nothing, but now those words continuously resurface inside my chest.

Unlike Cotton, I volunteered for this with no one else's life on the line. There was no sibling in danger, no parents egging me on to win. All there was there was me, raising my hand and shouting those words as my friends watched on in horror.

"...I'm not... a bad person..."

Clenching my teeth together, I push my head into my folded arms and breathe heavily as Natalia sits in silence. Uncomfortable moments pass as I dig my fingers into my upper arms, whispering those five words over and over- waiting for them to come true.

"...Brandit..."

"Why did I volunteer...?" My voice is barely audible through my gritted teeth. "...I had no reason... I'm not... I'm not a bad person... I just... I knew I'd regret it... if I didn't... I..."

Suddenly a pair of hands clench into my collar. Eyes suddenly open, I see Natalia staring down at me with a mixed expression of concern and anger- breathing heavily through her own clenched jaw.

"You're a horrible person, Brandit." I stiffen as her words pierce through me. "You're a disgusting, deplorable person who volunteered for a game that would force you to accept that. You threw away your comfortable life because you didn't appreciate it- you didn't recognise it. You volunteered because you wanted to be told just how awful you really are. If you hadn't, you'd spend the rest of your life not knowing just how terrible you really were- and you knew you'd regret it. That's why you volunteered- because you're a bad person."

Something inside me churns. I should be angry at these words. I should pull her hands off me and slap this girl in the face for what she's saying. That's what I would have done... had my heart not quietened down, hearing the truth I was waiting for.  
Finished, Natalia removes her hands from my collar and runs one through my hair, the tiniest smile crossing her face as she does so.

"...you volunteered so you could become a better person... by realising your sins and conquering them..." Closing her eyes, Natalia's smile spreads right across her lips. "Right?"

No one has ever been more right about me before. I savour the sensation of Natalia's hand stroking my hair and smile, closing my eyes as well.

By the end of these games, I'll have become a good person; a man who my family can be proud of. I'll do everything I can to live until the end, and right my sin of wasting life by supporting this girl to the finish.

"Thank you, Natalia."

* * *

_Francesca Bardot; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 3._

"T-This isn't a good idea Chess, we should just get out of here-!"

"Holly, we can't leave her down here! You said it yourself- this girl was kind to you, so we should return the favour, right?"

I wasn't meaning to scold him, but Holland shrinks away from me a little, causing the girl between us to suddenly slip. With a tiny yelp of discomfort, I rescue her from falling down completely and hold on tightly to her left arm slung over my shoulders.  
While we were exploring we found her, curled up in a ball- barely breathing. At first we thought she was dead- there had been a cannon shot after all- but when I leaned in close to inspect it I could hear her heart beating and feel her forehead burning with fever.

"That's the girl from 8!" Holland had cried breathlessly. "She... she was the one who knew my Dad."

That's right. I remember examining her carefully after he said this. She had a kind face, proven by how nicely she treated Holland at that time. Koriana looked oddly helpless, curled up on her side like a cute little white-haired hedgehog.

I knew I couldn't leave her there.

Over the course of my many party going experiences I've helped move many people- boys and girls- who have had a bit too much and fallen over flat. While I know Kori' isn't suffering from too much to drink, somehow thinking of her as just another drunken partygoer makes lifting her up and balancing her arms over both Holland and my shoulders so much easier.

Not wanting the silence to make him feel any worse, I quickly start up the conversation again. "Good thing we came exploring, right? She might have died down here!"

"Yeah..." Holland is having a little difficulty holding Kori one-handed. "I guess it's also good that we were sent the flash light..."

Grinning, I look briefly at the shining beacon clenched in Holland's free hand. Personally I think it was a sign from the sponsors that they agreed with my wanting to explore the ice cavern we found. Holland had protested so hard- even going so far as to say that by leaving we were abandoning our newly found cannon- but when the little parachute floated down with a shiny new torch, he knew that he had already lost.

I do hope that no one uses our cannon though. A frown surfaces as I think of a faceless tribute setting it off before I have the chance to. It's kind of a bummer that it was impossible to bring with us, although Holland did do a really good job hiding it beneath the rock crag we had slept under. I just hope that nobody finds it until we can get back.

Holland audibly strains himself as he tries to keep Kori upright. "Sh-She's heavy..."

"Don't say that!" This time I put on my best scolding voice. "No girl wants to hear that!"

"Sorry! I-I just meant-"

"What if she woke up to hear you saying that? I wouldn't blame her if she started attacking you, that's a horrible thing to say to a teenage girl- even if it were true!"

"I-I said I was sorry!"

Before Holland can get too frantic about apologising, I let out a loud snort and burst into laughter, barely managing to keep the girl between us aloft. Holland gapes at me incredulously as I try my hardest to stifle my giggling.

"I could never be actually mad at you Holland." I flash him a wink. "So stop apologising, okay? Everything is fine."

At this, Holland hides his face from me by looking away. Eheh, I must have embarrassed him. It's so hard not to tease him, since he makes the cutest face when he's flustered. His ears go all pink and it looks so funny with that purple hair of his.  
It seems so long ago when we were getting ready for the chariots and I proclaimed that we were going to win together, like a hundred years have passed. Nothing else can really explain why I'm so happy to travel together with him like this.

However, I am becoming a little worried. The chance of them allowing two victors is really small, particularly now that six days and eight tributes have passed already. It'd put me much more at ease to know that both Holland and I have a legitimate chance to win together. My smile disappears as I contemplate the idea of Holland dying and fighting this out alone.

I know that I was so confident in winning at first, on my own, but now I'm starting to feel that winning without Holland wouldn't be winning at all. If I let this wonderful boy get killed I'd never be able to forgive myself, let alone hope that everyone else will...  
I probably shouldn't care as much as I do, but I can't help it. Even now, we're doing something that tributes never do- helping out a random tribute who we happened to stumble across- and if I had decided to ally with anyone else, I know that they wouldn't have let me choose this option. Only Holland would be willing to shoulder this weight with me.

"Chess?" I flinch at the sound of my name, glancing at the concerned Holland. "Are you alright? You've been really quiet."

With a cheeky grin, I scrunch my lips into a pout. "Are you saying I can't be quiet? That I'm just a big old loudmouth?"

Just as I knew he would, Holland's eyes grow wide with alarm.

"N-No, of course not! I'm not saying that- I'd never say that! It's not that you're chatty or anything, you're just-"

He doesn't notice my giggles until I start to lose grip on the girl, at which point Holland goes all red in the face again and begins to mutter how stupid he was to fall for the exact same trick twice while I stifle my laughter and re-shoulder the girl.

"You're not stupid Holland," I say with a broad smile. "It's nice that you care about people's feelings- even when they're knocked out cold."

I give Koriana a little shake. Another compliment to deepen the pink on Holland's face rises to my mouth- but is interrupted by a slow moan from between us, causing not just the compliment to fall down into my head- but for both of us to drop the girl in shock.

"Sh-She's waking up-!"

As we fumble about with the decision to keep her upright or help her regain consciousness- I completely forget what my lost compliment was going to be.

* * *

_Diego "D"; 18 years; the Capitol Sector 8._

Much to my discomfort, the burning pain from the Panemized Honey Bees has not completely vanished since yesterday. Montserrat pulled each and every last stinger from my forearms and back- insisting that it was the least he could do- despite my weak protests that I could do it myself.

"You've done enough already Diego," Montserrat said with a grimace. "Let me do something, just this once, okay?"

I do not understand why he felt the need to add 'just this once', as in my opinion he has done more for me than anyone else. Montserrat was the one who first reached out to me, the first to ever consider me a 'friend.' For him to have stood by me this far is more than I could have ever fathomed _anyone _to ever do for me.

Even though it is unnecessary- and could be considered wasteful- I allow Montserrat to treat my wounds with the rubbing alcohol as Marshall begins pulling out supplies for lunch. I was spoiled yesterday- given far more than my fair share of food and drink- but both Marshall and Montserrat insisted I eat more.

"Those stings are going to hurt for at least a few days, even if we did manage to dig every one out," Montserrat had warned, tearing off a chunk of bread and dipping it in my stew. "You're going to need all the energy you can get to deal with it."

The attention was making me feel flustered. "But I can feed myself..."

In no way had I done what I had for this sort of priority. For lack of a better word, it was instinct- and not worthy of extravagant praise. Yet, Marshall has had trouble meeting my eyes since the incident, and Montserrat has suddenly become very cautious and insisted I stay wrapped up just in the mouth of the ice cave.

"Just until you feel better, okay?"

Not wanting to refuse his kindness, I do as he says and lean against the wall of the entrance, doing my best to ignore the throbbing pain that surges through my arms.  
It will take a few days for the sting wounds to heal naturally. We have no salves or balms to ease the bites, and it would be far more practical to want for more rations rather than expensive ointments.  
These wounds will heal by themselves in time. Until they do I will simply have to bear the pain. It is not likely to take too long. The only thought that worries me is that trouble might arise and I will not be able to help.

That must be one of the reasons I am hidden away like this. Montserrat and Marshall will try to shoulder all dangers themselves from here on. While it is a kind notion, it worries me greatly. I need to recuperate quickly, or my inability to fight could hinder us in the future.

While my mind is filled with these thoughts, I am still very tired from the throbbing pain throughout my torso, so I do little to fend off the bouts of sleep which I drift in and out of. While the cave is quite cool, lined with a heavy casing of ice, the several blankets I am wrapped in keep me more than adequately warm. The sun is beginning to set in the west, and as I watch the colours of the forest slowly fade with the evening- I hear a shout of surprise.

"-what is it? Marshall- Marshall what-?"

"It's another one! They sent us another one!"

I can hear loud laughter from Marshall as whatever he cherishes whatever he has just discovered. His voice is filled with excitement, and within seconds the boy skids to a stop in front of the cave and looks down at me- eyes lit up with delight.

"What is it?" I ask, suddenly a little surprised by how rough my voice sounds. I haven't had anything to drink since lunch.

Marshall slides across the ice floor and comes to a stop, crouching down whilst unscrewing the lid off a thermos.

"It's chocolate milk!" He is absolutely breathless while he grins madly over the treat. "They sent freaking chocolate milk!"

It is hard not to laugh as he stares at me expectantly- perhaps expecting for me to react as he did. But I just smile and, with a little protest from my burning arms, reach out to pat the boy on the head.

"Good. You have earned a treat," I murmur with a nod. "Enjoy it well."

The boy's face falls.

"I wanted you to have it, man. You really put yourself on the line for us yesterday after all." Face hardening, Marshall looks away for a moment before looking back. "Monty agrees with me. It's the least we can do."

That phrase again. I fight down a sigh and just look at my friend, wondering what I did for them to believe they have done so little in this fight of ours. I took one attack, and suddenly they lose all self-worth. Both have already done so much for me, yet they seem so unaware of it- it is almost painful.

"I refuse to drink the entire canister myself, Marshall." Reaching out, I push it slightly away from me. "-But, as you seem the insistent type, I'll agree to have an equal share with Montserrat and yourself."

While it is obviously not how he wanted his gesture to go, something in Marshall accepts my terms. Judging from his expression, while slightly dejected, I can tell he will enjoy the small taste of home. Sometimes it is easy to forget how young Marshall truly is. At fourteen years of age, he is one of the five youngest competitors who entered the arena and one of three who remain.

"Well, we're at least going to drink it together," Marshall says stubbornly. "Mont'! Come on, let's drink this!"

Rationing chocolate milk would be a waste. It doesn't last long, and it is obviously a treat rather than a supply. Montserrat emerges from the outside, and the three of us sit down to each share a cap full of the sweet-tasting drink.  
As we sit and talk, the mind-numbing pain subsides as a warm happiness washes over us all. Montserrat explains the reasoning behind his multiple piercings while Marshall repeatedly interjects with all the piercings that he one day hopes to have. I find myself being asked about the orphanage, and- what is even more surprising- I also find myself answering.

"Was it hard there?" Marshall sways back and forth, his hands holding onto his knees. "Was there, you know, a nasty matron who made life hell- or did the other kids burn each other with matches- or did any kids mysteriously go missing?"

"What?" Montserrat gags. "What the hell sort of childhood is that?"

"I do not recall anything like that... it was not too bad a place." I can feel myself laughing. "Although, I do remember the woman was very odd. She fancied herself a singer, I believe. It would keep everyone awake at night."

Laughing, Montserrat shakes his head. "Things are never as they seem in the movies, Marshall. They probably make a point of not hiring cruel women to work with children."

For some reason this annoys Marshall, who slumps forward and hangs his hands over his crossed legs with a frustrated expression. Montserrat and I share a small laugh as the boy tries to hide his embarrassment.  
Things certainly aren't as they are in the movies. The hurt isn't as obvious as a burn mark, and the people aren't as evil as a villainous matron. Life has a tendency to make everything much less simple than that.

Suddenly, something like a violent thudding reverberates from deep within the cave. All three of us freeze and stare into the darkness within as the noise amplifies with a series of shouts.

"What the hell is that?" Marshall hisses, rising to his feet with the thermos in hand. "What the hell is that-?"

My arm is suddenly secured by Montserrat. "Get up. We need to get away from here- now."

There is no time to argue. The noise is steadily becoming deafening and I know better than to tempt fate. It could be one of those elusive bears who have been tearing up the trees in the forest. It takes a lot more strength then it usually would to stand up, and I am hissing through my teeth from the pain.

"Can you walk?" Montserrat sweeps up the blankets on one arm- pulling on two of the packs at once. "Diego-?"

There's no time for this. Whether or not I can walk is irrelevant. If I fall down and get mauled- I shall be fine knowing these two made it away.

"I can walk."

We make haste in making it outside as the noise of thudding and scrambling continues within. Marshall already had the third and final bag packed up and hitched over his shoulder, and the moment we step outside he motions towards the forest and we prepare for the long run that is sure to follow.

Until I hear it.

"-_iego!_"

I feel my legs go stiff.

Slowly, I turn towards the ice cave, my mouth opening slightly as both Montserrat and Marshall stare panicked at me.

"Diego- we've got to run!" Montserrat hisses, gesturing wildly towards the forest. "The bears-!"

But I am practically breathless. "It is not a bear."

Turning, I begin to walk back towards the cave from which we had fled. Marshall exclaims loudly- and while I feel someone tug upon the sleeve of my jacket, I do not feel anything else. No burning sensation, no rush of fear. I know what I heard.

Stepping into the mouth of the cave, I call out into the darkness- straight to her- as loudly as possible-

"-I AM RIGHT HERE!"

* * *

******Capitol Question #024; what would you say is your 'biggest fear'? (eg. Heights, spiders, cramped spaces, failure, being alone, etc.)**


	50. As the Districts Watch

**A Vivid Note: **Just as things start to reach heart-palpitating levels... it's time for another long awaited 'District Kids' Perspective!' The last one was received surprisingly well, and this is my nice way of introducing twelve of next year tributes... along with several others- all mixed into the chapter.  
These are four future tributes, with- very slight- references to their District partners. It's a nice way of foreshadowing, I guess.

This is a short chapter, plus it reeks of filler to me, which is why I've done my best to upload it as closely to the previous instalment as possible. Think of it as a bonus prize of sorts.

**Capitol Question #025; if you could choose- what District would most prefer to live in?**

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Gleda Raine; 16 years; District 5._

As I wake up, my first coherent thought is 'Where am I?' My arms sprawl out beneath me, and I can feel tiny pieces of gravel digging into the skin where I must have slept. Sitting up and twisting my head slowly this way and that, I gradually begin to remember why I am here behind this abandoned family home and sleeping in the cold gravel alley.

"Ah... ahaha... I better get home... haha..."

It takes a moment before my legs are able to stand up again. They wobble and jerk beneath my weight, and I lean against the building in order to help myself up. It can't be any later than seven or so, because the sun hasn't touched this alley yet. That means I can take my time getting home. There's no rush. Father won't worry; I usually come home much later.

At some point my clothes must have been torn, because I can feel my skirt threaten to fall down my hips the moment I take more than a few steps. I hold it with one hand for a few shaky paces, but quickly decide to roll down the top until it stays firmly around my waist. Really I'd much rather just take it off and throw it away, but the throbbing feeling inside my thighs warns it would be best to cover up, at least for a little while.

Don't want to be found out. If the peacekeepers find out it would make problems for me and for father. I can't do that to my father. I must keep this skirt on if it kills me.

"...ahaha... hard to walk..."

Stumbling and giggling, I manage to find my way back onto the main street. There are people going about their morning business- going to work, doing their shopping- and no one takes any notice of me. I'm sure had I actually decided to tear off my skirt I'd have a bit more attention, but less attention is better. Best that no one knows so that no one starts spreading rumours. Can't have the peacekeepers find out. Can't cause problems.

A girl walking alone in shabby clothes won't raise any suspicion, even one lying half-naked in an alleyway won't cause much of a stir. It happens all the time. It's normal. For the districts, of course.  
But I don't want to be found, not when they've started cracking down on people in my position. So I'll be clever and not let them catch me. Last night was a bit of a slip-up, but I'm back on track already, so no harm done~!

Since I'm not in a hurry I allow myself to browse through the various shop windows I pass, smiling and giggling as I imagine how nice it would be to afford these things. Maybe if I worked really, _really _hard- broke the rules for a few weeks and took more than one customer a day- I'd have enough to buy something really nice to thank Dad. Of course, it's not like I could afford a better house- like those really nice ones in the Victor's village- but something like a new mattress or some really expensive wine to remind him how much I love him.

One of the shops is displaying television sets. It's mandatory to have a television in every home- viewing the Hunger Games every year is enforced after all- but it's common for families to want better models than the standard, with all sorts of options and extras like volume control- which is pretty useful for when those tributes really start screaming~!  
I haven't been watching much this year, but I didn't watch last year either. They're sort of boring when you realise how everything is staged. It makes me smile when so many people actually believe that they're real.

The televisions in the shop are doing a quick recap of the more boring events of today. I giggle a little at seeing the tributes with crazy hair. There's a boy with bright yellow hair sticking up right down the middle of his head like a big fan, and another with spiked up neon green hair that looks like knives! Capitol people look so funny. It would be interesting to live amongst people like that.

Across the bottom of the screen a tagline scrolls as they continue to show the spiky haired boy, saying something about 'Vinel's second day of searching.' Whatever he's searching for, he looks pretty tired. I giggle again as he stumbles and barely catches himself in time.

Silly, he should take it easy like I am. It's just a Game anyway. There are worse things he could be doing right now.

"Leg it- leg it!"

A shop-chime clangs as a door suddenly bursts open, followed by the shouts of a furious shop keeper and children's laughter. I turn to see what's going on, only for my body to be thrown backwards as one of the escaping kids rams into me at full speed- sending both of us tumbling to the curb.

"H-Husk'! Quick, get up! She's-!"

Tiny hands push hard against me as the boy scrambles to get up. Still giggling, I look up in my dizzy state as the boy- who looks no older than twelve- stares back at me in what I can only assume is terror.

"S-Sorry ma'am-" His voice trembles as he scuttles backwards. "I'm real sorry-"

Just as I'm about to tell the boy not to worry, a high pitched shriek sounds from behind me- and something hard and pointed knocks me to the ground before I can so much as open my mouth.

"Get the _hell away from my son_!"

Groaning and cradling my head, noticing that it now stings where I collided with the pavement- I wearily look up and see the boy's mother staring down at me with frenzied eyes- gripping the child tight to her chest.

"Don't touch my boy," She heaves, shaking her head desperately and backing away. "Stay the hell away from him."

Tilting my head, I feel a nervous grin twinge across my lips. "Eheh... he bumped into me... I wasn't-"

But my words do little as the woman trembles with such intensity that I shrink deeper into the curb. "I said stay away from him, you whore-!"

Without waiting for an answer, her foot springs forwards again- and I can hear someone in the middle distance yelp as my head cracks hard against the gutter. Arms jerking and twitching in agony, I wearily continue to watch as the woman backs away- still clutching onto her little boy with all her might.  
Something warm begins to leak down my forehead, oozing through the hairs of my eyebrow and trickling over my eyelid. The world is blurry as I struggle to sit up again- but I'm only able to push my head off the concrete, leaving myself on all fours as the whispers of the street surround me.

A girl in shabby clothes doesn't command much attention. There are plenty of those around here- far too many to bother taking notice of. Everyone just pities them.

"...eheh... ehehe..."

But there's absolutely no pity for the impure girls like me. No one wants to pity me, not when I'm willing to sell all of myself just so I can make it to tomorrow where I can continue to smile.

The blood leaks down my face and drips onto the gutter as I tremble with nervous laughter.

No pity for whores.

* * *

_Connor MacGuff; 17 years; District 6._

"Connor... I don't want to watch... I don't want to see this..."

Today is just like yesterday, just as yesterday was exactly the same as the day before. Tomorrow won't be any different either. It doesn't matter how hard I try, nothing will change. I just need to keep fighting on- just as she kept fighting on for me. It's only fair. It's only right.

Brushing the brittle blonde hair from her eyes, I smile softly at the trembling girl. "Do you want to go back to bed? Would you like me to carry you?"

Those sad gray eyes stare desperately back at me. "...I don't want to watch..."

Oh Antigone. I repress a sigh as I wrap my arms around her, lifting that frail frame of hers up off the recliner. I should be used to this, after so many days- so many years- but it still pains me to have to struggle with these moods of hers, and they only get worse during the Hunger Games. Each morning she finds her way to the television- but by the time I wake up, she's incapable of moving and is on the verge of a break down.

"_I don't want to watch... I don't want to see this..._"

Why do you come down to watch it every morning without fail then, Antigone? If you don't want to torment yourself with the memories you could just stay in bed and wait for me to bring you breakfast. I wish that you would. You don't need to sit there and stare at those games until you're unable to breathe from the pain it brings you.  
...as much as I might want to say those words to her, I could never bring myself to scold her like that. She's so fragile after all, words like that might send her into cardiac arrest. Then I'd never be able to forgive myself.

I lay her gently down on the bed, pulling the blankets up to her chin and tucking the sides under the mattress. Antigone just watches me in her usual daze, occasionally making little noises of discomfort as the blankets shift slightly atop her.

"Will you stay with me?" She whispers, looking up at me as I prop her up slightly upon a pillow. "Until I fall asleep?"

I know not to say no anymore. She becomes angry if I say no. "Of course."

Content, Antigone's eyes fall softly closed and she begins to breathe easily once again. I allow myself one silent sigh of relief as I watch her chest slowly rise and fall as she finally starts to calm down and gradually drifts into sleep.  
I'm more of a caretaker than a boyfriend, really, the way I treat her now. Before her games, our relationship was much different- more appropriate I guess. Back then we spent our time with our families and school rather than locked up all alone in this hollow house in the Victors' village.

"_Please... please don't leave me all alone..._"

Clenching my teeth together, I push back the faint memory of the tears rolling down Antigone's face as she bunched her fists over my clothes- holding on as tight as she could.

"_...I won't... I won't ever leave you... I promise..._"

It's lonely here. As much as I might love her, Antigone isn't much in the way of company anymore; her smile died along with everyone else in that arena, along with the old Antigone. Sometimes I find myself missing my family, wondering what life is like back in that ancient, rundown apartment of ours- but I could never tell her that. I still see them out and around town, and occasionally at work- and that's enough for me. It has to be.

There's no family for Antigone to see anymore, which is part of the reason why she never leaves this house anymore and why she stopped going to school. Ever since she won, they slowly began dying and disappearing. By last year there was just her brother left, and one day he just up and vanished.  
Everyone has their own theory about what happened. The whispers around the District say that Antigone is cursed to bring misfortune to anyone close to her, but that's just their hatred for the victors talking. While it may be customary to revere the victors in other Districts, that's not the way here. Winning the Hunger Games here is synonymous with being a Capitol sympathizer- no matter how much you suffered.

I'm only familiar with two of the past victors, and that's just because they're technically our neighbours. Sienna, victor of the 114th games lives in the house to our left, while Phoenix Swanson, victor of the 117th games lives in the one to the right. Neither of them are what you'd call sociable- but if I had to guess which one was more talkative I'd say Swanson- since Sienna is usually the one chosen for mentoring duties. All Swanson ever seems to do is brag.

Compared to Antigone, they're both vastly different. Neither of them needs someone to take care of them- someone to keep them from doing anything drastic. I can tell both of them look at my Antigone with eyes filled with pity, their hearts perhaps sympathising with what she's been feeling these past four years.

This girl all wrapped up in blankets experienced far more than she could handle in that arena. I know that she's beyond repair, that I could never hope to understand what destroyed the girl I loved, but I also know that I can't ever leave her. Not ever.  
No matter how much I may come to hate or resent her for being this way, I won't break the promise I made to that snivelling wreck of a girl.

"_You p-promise...?_"

"_Yeah... I promise._"

She's sleeping soundly now. I feel a tiny smile touch my face as I imagine this sleeping girl is the Antigone I once knew. When her eyes are closed, it's easy to pretend that's she the girl I met fourteen years ago, the girl I fell in love with.

But soon, she'll wake up again, and it'll all start over again.

Sighing one more time, I lean back in my chair and close my eyes.

* * *

_Carya Cottonwood; 16 years; District 7._

I'm busy making lunch for us all when I hear a girlish screech from the living room. Dropping the bread-knife on the counter with a loud clatter, I bolt through the doorway and skid to a violent stop across the floorboards- gripping onto the door-frame to keep myself from slipping over.

"What happened?" I ask frantically, staring around the room at my little siblings. "Is anyone hurt?"

Neither one of the twins speaks. They sit there on the couch, eyes fixed on me as the television continues to play its live feed of the Hunger Games. For a moment I think it might just be a false alarm- that some tribute screamed- but then I see the blonde haired head of Sage poke out from underneath the couch.

Frightened, she peers up at Maple and Moss. "Over now?"

Heaving a sigh of relief, I can't help but laugh as Sage timidly looks back at the television. Really, they're too young to watch this- the boys are still toddlers after all- but Dad's not home, Razo called him out to work today, and Mabeline is out having all our clothes washed. I'd tell them not to, but the television can't be turned off- and the sooner they get used to it, the better. I guess.

"What on Earth frightened you so much?" I laugh, reaching over and patting her head reassuringly. "I think you just woke up the whole planet!"

Sage goes red in the face as Maple continues to giggle. "Sh-Shu' up Map'!"

She bonks him on the head with her fist, which promptly causes the small child to stop his laughter and to immediately begin wailing in pain.

"Ow! Sage hit-! Sage hit-!"

"I didn'! I didn'- he's w'ying!"

Laughing weakly at Sage and Maple's- the former insisting she didn't touch him despite the fact we all saw- I glance at the television to see what could have stirred my sister up so much. The camera is focusing on a young boy running for his life through a forest of amazingly huge trees with a grin or a grimace stretched across his face. This doesn't really add up, there's nothing that scary happening, until the camera flashes back to two other tributes- one clutching his side as blood dribbles from his side while his female partner screams silently from our muted television set.

Ah, I understand now. Sage must have copped an eyeful when the boy stabbed that other tribute. No wonder she screamed, she's never been able to deal with anything remotely scary. She can barely stomach seeing a splinter embedded in someone's finger- let alone a knife stuck in a person's side.  
Regardless, I think the three of them have watched far too much television for today. Bending over, I scoop up little Moss and hold him up as the other two look up at me, tears in both of their eyes.

"It's time for lunch," I grin, nodding to the kitchen. "Let's get going, little troublemakers."

Their eyes light up at the mention of food, and within seconds the pair of them have forgotten their quarrel and run for the kitchen- as Moss continues to sit happily in my arms, smiling quietly as I place him gently in his seat beside Maple.  
They're really good kids. At first I was... less than thrilled to learn I would be an older sister- back when I was ten and thought I was the centre of the world- but mom convinced me that it was a good thing to have brothers and sisters.

"_Family are the friends you're born with,_" she had said, holding me on her knee and pressing her finger against my nose. "_So you have to do your best to love them, even when it seems impossible._"

At first I was adamant to hate my baby sister and the twins- but after Mom died... I guess they were all I had left of her; I had to do my best to take care of them. Mabeline loves them as if they were her own, but it's sort of a personal agreement that I'm their primary caregiver.

"Uh! Uh-uh! No- mine! It's mine!"

Maple holds his chubby arms high in the air- clutching hard to his sandwich as Sage shrinks back in her seat. I laugh slightly before intervening and putting a hand between the two.

"Sage, if you're still hungry- _don't _steal Maple's food. There's enough for seconds."

Her cheeks puff out in frustration at my warning, and before she can try to explain- I hear a familiar scratching coming from her lap, which is hastily covered up by a frantic Sage.

"Sage," I warn, reaching over and picking up the tiny creature by the scruff of his neck- lifting him high out of my sister's frantic reach. "No food for Blackie. You know what Dad said."

The tears form in seconds. "No! No Carya! Give him back-!"

Several months ago Sage found this black squirrel in the forest by the field where the children play. It was missing a leg and looked on the edge of death- but rather than letting us dispose of it, she nursed it back to health and has been keeping it since.  
However, Dad threatened to kill the squirrel after he found Sage hoarding three whole loaves of bread in her clothes drawer. She claimed he was sick and that sick people needed more food than others- and no matter how we tried to dissuade her that squirrels don't deserve the same treatment as people- she continued to try and smuggle the little thing supplies.

Our father is a kind man- but no one can really afford to waste supplies on a squirrel of all things- and in a bout of frustration after trying to reason with Sage he warned her that the next time he saw Blackie being fed food intended for the family- Blackie would be next on the menu.

My sister starts to scream and thrash about in her chair- desperately grabbing for the squirrel who hangs rather contently from my hand.

"Give him back! I won' take food! I won'!"

I raise an eyebrow and lower the squirrel slightly, watching as Sage's tears stop while she reaches up for her beloved pet.

"Do you swear?"

Nodding fervently, Sage makes a little cross motion over her chest with her finger. "I swear! Cross my heart- hope to die-!"

"No Sage, no!" I burst into laughter, handing her the furry little guy and putting my hands on her cheeks. "Don't go hoping to die just for a squirrel!"

"Blackie's no' just an 'ordinary' squirrel," protests Sage, holding the creature close to her heart. "He's Blackie- King of the Squirrels! He won and now this is his castle!"

Both of the boys have finished eating. Ruffling Moss' hair and taking their plates, I look at Sage tickle Blackie under his chin, crooning happily as the fluffy little thing sits upright in her palm.

"What did he win to become King again, Sage?" I ask kindly, putting the dishes in the sink to wash up.

"The 'Squirrel Hunger Games'!"

The plate slips from my hand and shatters in the sink before I can even try to save it.

"...the... 'Squirrel'... Hunger Games...?"

Suddenly, I realise that my siblings are_ far_ too young to 'be getting used' to the Hunger Games, and I'm going to have to limit how much they watch from now on.

* * *

_Miracle Thread; 16 years; District 8._

"Well, today's been a boring day for the Games."

Slumping back on the couch, I bend my neck left and right to hear the satisfying 'snap' noises it makes from the long day of relaxing. To my left, Lumina frowns slightly as I grin and stretch out my arms- cracking each of my fingers in the process.

"That's gross Mik'," my sister mumbles, turning her eyes back to the screen. "I wish you would do it somewhere else..."

Chuckling, I push my shoulder against hers. "If it bothers you so much, why don't you go ahead and leave, _princess_~?"

Lumina, just as I expected, wrinkles her nose up in that cute way she does when she's annoyed or disgusted; which are the two main emotions I enjoy bringing out of her.

"Bite me!"

"Dude, gross- you're my sister," I laugh- causing her to screw up her whole face in revulsion. "Oh, relax Lu'- I'm just messing with you, don't go pulling that face. The wind will change and it might stay that way."

Her expression doesn't change much, but my sister relaxes a bit before looking back at the television.

"I guess it was... a boring day." Her mouth tilts into a little frown. "These Capitol kids aren't what I thought they'd be like. They're... really sentimental, aren't they?"

"That's one word for it," I snide with a laugh, bending one of my legs over the other. "It'd be fun watching them stumble around that arena if they weren't all so damn stupid."

Tomorrow it'll be one week since those twenty-four Capitol tributes went into the arena, and since they started only eight have died. If they were District kids there'd only be eleven or so left; these Capitol kids seem to waste a lot of their time with emotional drama.  
It's sort of a letdown. Everyone was looking forward to the retribution of watching Capitol kids die like animals, but so far it's been less than enjoyable. There's been hardly any killing- two tributes have died by mutt, one has starved and two blew up before the damn thing even started! Only _three _were killed by combat, and two of them were by the lamest little wannabe-murderer kid ever imaginable.

"Aww, look," Lumina's face suddenly breaks into a smile. "The big guy found his partner."

I glance up to see one of the hulking tributes throwing his arms around a fragile mess of a girl. Two tributes that seem to have been carrying her immediately begin backing away anxiously as the guy's allies flock to his side.

Closing my eyes, I yawn, "Lame."

Unsurprisingly, Lumina ignores me. "It's nice to know that Capitol kids are capable of caring. Maybe there's hope for the future, with people like them living there."

"You seem to be forgetting something," I say, opening an eye.

"What would that be?"

With a smirk and closing my eyes again, I fold my arms behind my head and stretch my legs out as far as they can go. I can feel Lumina's curious eyes on me as I laze back with all the ease of a King in his mansion.

"Regardless of how 'nice' they are, all these kids except _one_ are guaranteed to die."

I don't even have to look to know that Lumina is crestfallen. I yawn again as she seems to sink into the couch, clutching her hands together as the television continues on in the background, ignored.

"...it's not likely... that a nice tribute will win..."

Her voice is timid as she quietly murmurs this, and when I open my eyes I feel my shoulders go stiff in alarm. Lumina looks positively heartbroken. While no tears have formed, there's an overwhelming sense of sadness as she stares down at her hands, clasped neatly together in her lap.

Panicking, I sit upright and begin to fluster. "H-Hey- that's not... that's not written in stone you know! I mean- these Capitol kids- they're all so stupid- I bet a nice one will win by a fluke!"

I don't believe a word that I am saying, but I'm saying it for my baby sister. All that matters is that she believes it. She looks up at me with those hopeful blue eyes and stares almost pleadingly.

"Do you... do you really think so Mik'?"

No. No I don't.

Grinning, I reach out and pet my sister's head. "Of course I do. I'd even go so far as to bet money on it. One of these saps will win."

Motioning towards the screen as I say this, I have to do a double take as I see what's happening onscreen. The big guy has slumped to his knees and is hugging the girl as tightly as he possibly can, burying his face in her dirty hair. He's muttering something as the girl lies motionless in his arms while his friends watch on in silence.

...since... since when did Capitolites care so much...? My face goes hard I try to understand. He should be more worried about his own mortality, rather than this little girl he's fretting over. If I were in the Hunger Games, I wouldn't make the mistake of prioritizing anyone over myself or of making these meaningless gestures of compassion.

What's the point of hugging that girl? I'd love to ask him that, just to see the idiot question it himself. She's just going to end up dead, as will him if he keeps up this stupid act. The Hunger Games are not the sort of game to play with other people. It's a game to play _against _others.

"...thank you, Mik'."

Pausing, I glance back at Lumina. She's smiling once more, which puts my heart at ease. If she had begun crying I really wouldn't have been able to stand it.

"I'm your big brother. It's what I do."

At these words, Lumina's eyes gleam with happiness. Without warning- she throws her arms around me, and as I shout a little in surprise- I can't help but feel extremely happy as my little sister squeezes me tightly.  
Placing a hand on her head once more, I feel a warm smile grow across my face as those blue eyes look up at me and shine under the television's light.

"I love you, you know that right?"

She pauses. Then, without missing another beat, Lumina sings-

"Dude, _gross_- I'm your sister."

* * *

**Capitol Question #025; if you could choose- what District would most prefer to live in?**


	51. Friends and Family

**A Vivid Note: **Sorry for the excruciatingly long wait. I've been quite busy, but I was writing whenever I found the time. I'm not particularly proud of this chapter, but hopefully it will serve as an acceptable apology for my absence.

Since it was requested, I'll verify who the dead tributes are currently- but bear in mind I won't be doing this regularly since doing so is a pet peeve of mine I'm adamantly trying to avoid. Part of my fun is constantly leaving everyone wondering who the dead tributes are- as later I will _purposefully _be leaving it vague for plot's sake.  
As of this moment, the morning of the **seventh **day, the dead tributes are _Liotta, Jason, Galaxy, Britney, Evon, Jasse, Sapphire _and _Julian_; they are hereby confirmed as 'dead'. No more need to wonder.

Now, let's go and make it confusing so you can wonder again.

**Capitol Question #026; which of the twenty-four tributes would you have chosen for an alliance?**

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Montserrat Saint-Phillipe; 18 years; the Capitol Sector 9._

As I watch the sun rise on our seventh day in the arena, I can't help but look around at our camp and feel my heart swell with a warm happiness. In just one day, our tiny alliance of three took in three more- and rather than strain under the pressure of more mouths to feed, we've flourished.

That pair from three found Koriana deep inside the ice caverns and carried her out together. I'll admit we were a bit wary of them at first, but judging from how far they went to rescue her and how adamantly they refused to leave her alone with us it was impossible to feel distrust towards the young boy and girl.

"_S-She was good to me!_" The boy was practically in tears as his partner nodded fervently. "_I... I want to make sure she gets better!_"

It was in that moment that I knew we couldn't send them away. All it took was a smile from Marshall and a nod from Diego to know it was alright to place our trust in them.

"_...then how about we stick together from here on out?_"

The stunned look on their faces when I said those words was unforgettable. And with that, our three became six- and Marshall, Holland, Francesca and I celebrated with the remaining supply of chocolate milk while Diego continued to cradle Koriana, who was yet to fully wake from her almost comatose state.  
Even now, his arms are still wrapped tight around her body. He hasn't let go since she first slumped into his chest, as if he's afraid that by letting go she'll shimmer away into nothing; like a dream. From where I stand watch over them all, I can see his nose is still buried in her hair, finally breathing at ease for the first time since the games began.

"-_I AM RIGHT HERE!_"

Without even a trace of doubt or fear in his voice- he had shouted that into the cave.

Diego... he's not like anyone I've ever met before. The way he can put his whole self on the line to protect and care for someone else after what I can only assume is _a lifetime _of having no one do the same for him... it's inspiring, to say the least.

I hope his bites heal quickly; the pain they're giving him must be intense. He's a big guy, but size can only help so much with injuries like that. Some of the stingers were embedded pretty deep in his back and his arms- and it took a bit of prying with the needle intended for stitches just to get all of them out. It was agonizing digging that tiny sliver of metal into his forearm knowing how much it'd hurt to have me fishing around in there for bee stings.

After everything that happened today, I don't have the heart to wake him up for guard duty. Marshall took the first shift, and I'm now taking over for the second half. I know I'll be tired tomorrow- but it should be much easier tomorrow night with Francesca and Holland lending a hand, which they had eagerly offered to do during our conversation.  
They're good kids. They're both sixteen- so they're older than Marshall- but they seem to have a different energy to him; a completely different approach to these games. While we talked it seemed that the girl was on a natural high while the boy, Holland, just laughed and twinged nervously. I don't remember too much about them from the days before the games, except that they seemed inseparable from the beginning and that Holland threw up during the party.

It's a little surprising they've lasted so long, but also a little inspiring. When the time came for everyone to settle down for the night, they both curled up- side by side- and went straight to sleep out of exhaustion. As I look over there, at the blanket Marshall offered them to share- I can see that Francesca has wrapped her arms gently around Holland's head and pulled it into the warmth of her chest.

All this time that Diego, Marshall and I have been struggling, so have they. Somehow I forgot about the other tributes lost in this arena with us; thinking only of myself and the others- but right now, the others are out there. Natalia and her group, Ari Saint-Claire and her partner, the black guy from seven- everyone is fighting to survive, just like we are.

'_Well_,' I think, closing my eyes and smiling. '_Maybe not 'just' like we are.'_

In the few Hunger Games that I've watched, I don't quite recall seeing an alliance quite like ours. There was always some sort of betrayal- or some sort of horrible encounter before the bonds could deepen too far. Difficulties would arise and the group would split up before any of its members were met with any real danger.  
That's probably what the Panem hive was meant to be- our group's catalyst. No doubt the Gamemakers were tired of our rapport and wished to throw a spanner into the works.

I wonder if they were just as surprised as I was to see Diego throw himself over Marshall and me. I can't help but feel a little proud over how much it must have stunned them. They were obviously hoping for a mad scuffle and for us- split apart by the hive- to be picked off by the arena.

What are they thinking now that we've taken three more tributes into our group? Are they angry at our constant refusal at drama... or are they happy to see this sort of dynamic? It's new after all, and judging from the sponsor gifts, the viewers seem to be enjoying it.  
Although, they probably don't see it for what it really is. From what I've heard- Hunger Games fans are notorious for reading into things that aren't there. I probably have some fan club out there rooting for Marshall, Diego or I to 'hook up' with one another.

My lip curls slightly from the image that spawns in my mind.

We're... we're a family. I understand that few people would appreciate that, but family is a different sort of love than... than _that _love. It would be like if people assumed that I was 'hooking up' with one of my sisters-

"_...I love you..._"

The memory crashes into my head like an atom bomb- rendering me incapable of breath as I suddenly clutch onto the nearby tree for support. This memory wipes the slate of my mind clean, leaving me incapable of thinking of anything else.

I almost forgot... I almost forgot all about her... about my sister...

Quietly, as the small sounds of crickets and the night creatures mask my footsteps- I creep towards the duffle bag where I hid it. Someone murmurs in their sleep, but nothing interrupts as I unzip the bag and reach inside, feeling around for my treasure.  
And there, at the very bottom- my fingers touch it. Locking my hand around its soft fabric, I pull the green scarf from its hiding place and raise it to eye level.

Eresenda... are you sleeping right now? Or are you curled up on the couch, watching this moment with eyes filled with tears that I can't wipe away?

Slowly, gently put the scarf to my lips.

"Regardless of whether it's as a man... or as a brother... just know that..."

I close my eyes and lower the scarf.

"I love you, Eresenda."

* * *

_Ferroh Axum; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 7._

We aren't going to make it much longer unless things change soon. Faye-Anna is crying on and off every hour, we have nothing to eat or drink- and as the hours clock past I can feel my body giving way to the lack of sleep that's sapping away my stamina.  
We found a lake. Apparently we weren't the first, since there were several sets of footsteps set in the banks surrounding its sickly golden waters. I didn't even bother waking up Faye-Anna, who I had carried there on my back. She just would've cried more had she seen it.

This arena just seems like an elaborate ploy to taunt and tease its tributes. The trees that are as tall as skyscrapers prevent us from climbing to safety. The obvious source of water is undrinkable- and the true water springs are set in areas of danger of being flattened by the gargantuan forest giants when they fall. No doubt there are muttations hidden in this god-awful place, just waiting for the unsuspecting tributes to stumble across them and fall prey to their dangers.

Even the creatures that aren't altered are dangerous. I shift Faye-Anna a little as my ribcage aches slightly under her weight. The incident with the deer- in hindsight- bothers me much more than it originally had. I can't believe I was stupid enough to let the thing ram me like it did. What if it had pierced the skin and punctured something? I'd be dead for sure.

I can't keep forgetting what this place is. It should be impossible, but when I'm able to relax and enjoy a leisurely conversation with Faye-Anna- it's incredibly easy to forget where I am; that this is just some school function or a trip. That we're going home.  
Every time I remember the truth it feels like my lungs are being gripped by a pair of clawed hands and twisted inwards. This isn't a trip- and no matter how hard we may fight- there is no way for the both of us to go home.

"_W-Why on Earth would you want me-?_"

But no matter what it takes, I'll do my best to protect this girl I carry. I volunteered to save Galaxy's little brother, and now I fight to save someone's little sister. This is my way to keep from 'losing myself', as Ashen had warned. As long as I struggle on with a purpose like this, I can keep my mind from distorting as it had in the training room.  
The way my fingernails had dug into the Avox's throat is still so familiar it's as if his skin is still buried under my nails. I've only felt terror like that once before in my life, and that was as I fought with all my might against those bastards who had attacked Ashen. That fear shut down everything but my need to fight- everything but my anger- just as it had when I clashed lances with the Avox.

If Faye-Anna hadn't been on that night in the training centre with Iilvsea and her goons, I'm sure it would have happened again. The terror from seeing that clotting, pulsating mush of a body still writhing on the floor... I most definitely would have tried to kill the Head Gamemaker.

There is no telling what sort of tragedy that would bring about. Would a tribute get away with killing a person in such a high-authority position? There's no way. I might have stepped off my plate and been swallowed up by the earth in an instant just to make sure I didn't win.

Keeping my temper and fear in check is all that's important now, as well as keeping Faye safe. As long as I can do that, I know we can make it at least close enough to the end that I'll have no regrets.

"...Ferroh...?"

Faye's tiny sleepy voice gives me a mild surprise. Turning my head slightly sideways, I smile at the weary-eyed girl as she rubs away the crust of sleep from her eyes.

"Hey. How are you feeling, Faye?" I ask.

"Okay..." As Faye-Anna begins to wake up her expression becomes sadder while she remembers exactly what she woke up into. "Has... anything happened?"

For a second I consider telling her about the golden lake, when I decide that I was right before in thinking it would only upset her. So I shake my head and just hoist her up a little higher on my shoulders.

"Nothing at all. It's a quiet day." I'm a little surprised by how disappointed I sound. It's a good thing it's quiet. Quiet means no danger after all.

Hearing that nothing has transpired causes Faye-Anna to settle back into a relaxed state. "That's good..."

Just as I'm beginning to accept the fact, in the distance I hear a strange popping noise- like a lid off a container or a cap being flipped open. Tensing, I glance around- trying to comprehend what direction it came from as Faye-Anna continues to cling to me like a baby possum.

"Ferroh? Ferroh- did you hear something just now-?"

I shush her with an inadvertent hissing noise, which just causes Faye to cling tighter. Listening as hard as I can, I find myself holding my breath in the hopes that this time I'll hear exactly where it came from-

An arrow suddenly cuts past my face and thuds into the nearest tree before I even register the high-pitched whistle of its approach.

"AH-!"

Throwing myself backwards- barely staying upright with Faye-Anna screaming in my ears and gripping my neck for dear life- I look up and find our attacker positioning the next arrow with a crazed expression fixed on her face.  
There's no time to negotiate. The girl from 4 is taking no prisoners and lets her next arrow fly with a blood curdling shriek. Faye-Anna screeches again as I dive sideways and send us both rolling across the ground behind the safety of the tree roots.

"What do we do!" Flat on our stomachs, I snap my head towards Faye-Anna as she cries this under her breath. "What do we do-!"

Another arrow buries itself in the tree trunk above our heads. Whoever this girl is, she really knows how to handle that bow and arrow. Glancing again at Faye-Anna, sobbing into the dirt with her hands clenched over her head, I quickly decide what it is we need to do.

Slipping my right hand into my belt and wrapping my fingers around the handle of our dagger, I tense my left arm against the ground.

"Stay here until I say to run."

Faye-Anna's tear filled eyes fly open in panic just as I push myself up. There's a curiously familiar flicker of horror within her eyes that I manage to catch just before I grab hold of the tree root and propel my body forwards.

"No- no Ferroh, _wait-_!"

My feet pound hard against the dirt. Keeping my temper and fear in check comes second to keeping her safe.

So I hurtle towards our attacker, and as she points the next arrow towards my face, I swing my free arm back and bring my fist smashing straight into the deranged woman's face.

"_GET AWAY FROM HER!_"

* * *

_Laco Sykora; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 5._

The heat has become unbearable. Without the canister of water to quench our thirsts, Ari and I have gone since yesterday without a drop to drink. But neither of us complains, and it's obvious that we're only struggling on in silence because we both know there's a conversation we want to avoid.

Ari has blamed herself for everything that happened- for our water supply being poisoned... for Vince stabbing me. It was hard to tell her to look on the bright side, because while we may still have the sleeping bag and the bow- we aren't going to get very far without a water source, and without our knowing that little bastard made off with our antiseptic as well.  
I told her not to worry about it, but since our 'moment' yesterday, rather than becoming more comfortable about working with me, Ari's made some sort of internal decision that it's up to her to 'make things right'.

"Are you sure you don't want to take a break?" I ask with concern, taking hold of her arm as she slumps slightly sideways in exhaustion. "We've been walking since the sun came up. You've had nothing to eat and nothing to drink- it's dangerous to keep this up-"

"No, no I'm fine," Ari answers breathlessly. She wipes several blonde strands from her forehead, the skin glistening with sweat. "We just need to keep going until... until we find a stream or... or something..."

Without warning, Ari's body suddenly dips from her fatigue and she barely manages to catch herself before completely toppling over. Within seconds I'm holding her by the shoulders as the now startled girl grips her head with both hands, struggling to gain back her focus again.

"I-I just tripped-" She begins weakly, her lips quivering into an uneasy smile.

"I know that's a lie, Ari- just admit that you're tired." I can't hide the frustration in my voice as I interrupt her. Ari's face fills with shame. "I know that resting means putting ourselves at risk of not reaching a water source by nightfall, but if we continue on like this-"

Shaking her head desperately, Ari puts her hands on my shoulders and pushes me away. "No, we can't rest... there's no time... we're _a week _into the games- if we rest now they're bound to set something on us..."

While I can see the logic behind her reasoning- it's around the week mark that Gamemaker tricks really get kicked up a notch- that's no excuse for Ari to push herself like this. I can't bear to see her struggling, and if we keep forcing onwards like this we're just going to struggle more later.  
Knowing there's really only one way to stop this girl from adamantly continuing on regardless of my opinion- I take hold of her hands again and smile as I lead her towards a nearby tree.

"It's pointless to strain ourselves." Not giving her a choice, I suddenly sit down- pulling the startled Ari Saint-Claire down with me. "So let's rest. I promise we'll be up and going again before you know it."

Rather than argue as she might have in the early days of our alliance, an adorable expression of embarrassment tints Ari's cheeks a light pink.

"...o-okay..."

She may still feel guilty about letting down her guard before, but since the 'confession' of hers, she's been a little more susceptible to exposing this cute, shy side I adore. I caught slight glimpses of this vulnerability before the games- while we danced and as she fussed over the cut Natalia's whip inflicted during training- but this is the first time I've seen it on display.

Brushing the hair from her face, I smile as Ari inhales and exhales with obvious exhaustion. "You really push yourself in everything you do, don't you?"

"In... in what I do... it's sort of necessary to push myself this hard..." Sighing, Ari's glance drifts away. "I've never really been one to take things easy."

"Being a singer is really that hard?" My hand lingers a moment beside her cheek. It radiates an alarming heat without my even touching her. She's really burning up. "Why do you keep doing it then? Why don't you give it up?"

An expression of surprise fills Ari's face.

"Retire?" Her surprised eyes turn downwards and turn to sadness. "I... I couldn't do that..."

I lean back against the tree and examine my partner closely. "Why not? When you say that it's necessary to push yourself, you sound sad. So why not quit and live a normal life? It'd definitely be easier on you, and I'm sure all the money you've earned so far is enough for you to get by."

Once again, Ari's face changes to one of shock before twisting into a new emotion entirely. This time she appears conflicted.

"...I... I've thought about it before. Retiring, I mean," she adds, shifting her weight off of her legs. "But... I meant it when I said I couldn't..."

"Can I ask why?"

For a moment it looks as if Ari is going to shake her head and say 'no, you can't ask' but all she does is look up at the forest canopy before taking in one long, deep breath.

"...I... my mom... she sort of... she..."

Her mouth opens and closes as she tries to find the words. After a few false starts, Ari tries again.

"My mom died when I was six years old... and all I can remember about her is how proud she was when I first started getting into all this. It's really the only memory I have of her, sitting me beside her on the piano as she ran through the songs with me. She was so proud of what I could do and when she died... I wanted to keep making her proud..." Swallowing the lump in her throat, Ari's eyes flicker towards mine before turning away completely. "But I... I have no way of knowing if she's proud of me... proud of what I did with my voice... I remember her saying that truly beautiful music has the power to change fate itself but... I... I can't change anything..."

My heart begins to twist as I watch the eyes of the girl I love slowly fill with tears.

"A-All I've done is what my father told me to... I c-couldn't change anything..." Her eyelids trembling, Ari's shoulders rise and her head lowers. "I c-can't bring mom back... I can't save N-N-Namer... I... I can't fight this fate... and I c-can't... I c-can't..!"

Tears sliding down her flushed cheeks, Ari's eyes shudder to stay open as her mouth opens and closes with the tiniest of cries.

"I-I c-can't save us either-!"

Before she can say another word- I throw my arms around the girl. I do it with such force that she lets out a cry of alarm, but I do not relax the embrace. I tighten my arms around her tighter, curling my fingers over her head and tangling them in her hair as if I'm trying to push her right through to my ribcage.

"You're wrong. You're wrong, Ari." Burying my face into her neck, I shut my eyes tightly and murmur. "You've changed so much already. You've saved people already-"

Tightening my grip, I press my forehead against her collarbone.

"You saved me."

Memories of that grey and grey past flicker through my head as Ari stiffens inside my embrace. I remember the pills that rattled as I tried to pour them all into my hand. I remember the skin of my forearm peeling away like the red sea as I dragged the blade hard across the skin. The endless monotony of every day knowing that nothing would ever change- that this dreary world was my fate.

"You changed my life, Ari. You saved me."

And as I watched her ascend those stairs I knew that it was my destiny to keep this beautiful girl who had changed my monotone world alive.

Ari Saint-Claire finally gave me purpose.

With trembling fingers, Ari reaches her arms under my shoulders and holds on tightly, a shaky smile desperately trying not to break into a wail.

"...you... you too..."

Resting her warm forehead against mine, tears continue to spill over her cheeks as she chokes out her words.

"Y-You saved me too...!"

* * *

_Vinel Greggorus; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 4._

"_GET AWAY FROM HER!_"

That black guy from 7 was about to kill her. As I ran towards them I had watched as he punched her with one hand and attempted to bring around his knife with the other- but I stopped him before that happened. Miraculously, I had somehow managed to find Minerva just in time to save her life.

"_GET THE HELL AWAY FROM HER-!_" There was no time to go for my sword at the time. I just threw back my arm and punched that bastard in the jaw as hard as possible while lunging at him with the other arm. "_TOUCH HER AGAIN AND I'LL END YOU!_"

It wasn't an empty threat. In that moment I was more than willing to stab the shit out of him for daring to punch her- but if a fight with him could be avoided, it should. Grabbing Minerva- who had begun shivering and clutching at her face- I pushed her behind me and stared that idiot down until he finally backed off and disappeared into the forest with one of the younger tributes I didn't recognise.

Now an hour later, Minerva continues to quiver on the ground. Unable to speak or move, she just stares ahead of her where the two tributes had disappeared. No matter what I murmur, no matter how I hold her- she doesn't change. She's like a wind-up toy with a jammed mechanism; refusing to respond to anything I try.  
Her hands won't stop shaking. I gingerly reach forwards and touch upon one of her hands- but suddenly she recoils I feel an intense surge of guilt flood my stomach as my eyes fall upon her engagement ring.

...that's how it is, isn't it? I don't know what I was expecting; it isn't like I forgot about Minerva's fiancé. Perhaps I just thought... maybe she'd be happier to see me. It's been a week since we last saw one another after all, and it's not like we left on bad terms.  
Of course, things must have been rough for her. The image I have of when I first saw her seems like an entirely different person to the shivering young woman sitting beside me now. Minerva's wavy brown hair is now oily, matted and tangled, and her face is smeared with dirt and grime while her cheek begins to show signs of bruising. That's only to be expected though, since there aren't exactly showers here- but what worries me is how those once strong, piercing blue eyes have become empty and glassy like orbs.

She really does seem... like a broken wind-up doll...

"Hey... Minerva..?" With a twitching grin, I put an arm around her shoulder and shake her gently. "I, uh, don't know what you have been through since the bloodbath, but..."

I stop in the middle of my sentence and slowly let my hand slide off of her shoulder. Something still feels wrong about me doing this, as if I'm attempting something terrible just by touching her. I might have saved her from being killed but... it doesn't seem like she's even alive right now.

Letting my body sink into a relaxed position, I sigh and look up at the softly rippling sky of overlapping tree branches.

"...I just wanted you to know that I did mean it... what I said back then, I mean. I'm gonna protect you. From here on out."

Glancing at Minerva from the corner of my eye, I watch the tremble slowly disappear from her hands.

"You don't need to be scared anymore," my voice is softer than I ever remember it being as I say this. "You don't need to do everything yourself anymore. You can... you can rely on me now, you know?"

With the slowest of movements, Minerva gradually turns to face me. I try not to reciprocate with my gaze too quickly, but I turn and smile at her whilst desperately hoping for her to give me one in return.

"...Vi..."

Timid like a squeaking mouse, Minerva's trembling hand suddenly slides across the dirt towards my leg. I tense slightly as those shaking fingertips of hers with the fingernails bitten raw suddenly clutch against my pant leg.

"V-Vidar..."

My stomach lurches as Minerva's wild, hollow eyes suddenly begin to fill with tears. I try to shuffle backwards, to pull myself out of her reach, but she grabs tightly onto my other leg and starts to lean across and close the space between us.  
Peering up at me with that insane stare, I can feel my heart pounding staring into the face of a girl I can't recognise.

"I-I'm so tired, Vidar..." Tears trickle down her cheeks, mixing with the loose dirt that coats her face. "Everything... it hurts... they're all trying to k-kill me... they all want me dead... no one... no one c-can _help me..._"

Her voice cracks into a strange wailing noise. Something inside me twists with guilt for not reaching her sooner. How long has she been like this; biting her nails out of fear and feeling as if she were completely alone? Everyone here has found someone to fight alongside with... except Minerva. Even though I had offered, she continued to carry her burdens alone, even one as big as this.

"Minerva..." Swallowing, I place my hands atop hers and weakly try to push them away with little success. "I'm not... I'm Vinel. Not Vidar. Vinel."

My words don't seem to reach her. Or, I guess, she doesn't seem to understand them. A smile to mask her fear breaks across her face while her nail-less fingers dig into my legs.

"I'm... I'm so hungry... s-so thirsty..." Her cheeks rise up in a pained smile and she chokes on her words. "I-I've had to... had to drink... h-humiliating... really... really h-humiliating..."

She isn't making sense. Minerva's words vanish into a string of incoherency, and all I catch is the odd word that makes no sense to me. She mumbles about bees, pills, blood and dragonflies. As she does this I see that her hand occasionally twitches as if there is a sudden strong desire to scratch at herself. Maybe she has a rash from constantly being on the move, or something has bitten her.

"You're not making any sense, Minerva..." There's a knot in my throat as I try again to prise her fingers off my pants. "Calm down... you just got to calm down for me..."

But there is no sign of Minerva calming down as she pushes herself up off the ground and leans in closely, those empty eyes quickly becoming manic as her hands reach up off my legs and grab the sides of my head.

"It's all okay now though..." Her breath is rank. I pull back in alarm but she just leans further with me. "It's all okay..."

Minerva suddenly smiles widely, and I can feel the terror hit its peak as I see the insides of her cheeks have been chewed raw.

"-because you're here now, Vidar!"

She has broken.

Minerva has broken.

* * *

_Holland Wickbird; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 3._

Today went by so quickly, it feels like a dream. Not once since these games began did I believe that Chess and I would come across friendly tributes. We didn't make friends or really reach out to the other tributes during the time we all spent together; Chess and I had banded tightly together.

I didn't expect for us to be let into this alliance. When Montserrat, the guy from 9 who I had previously only identified as 'that guy with the mohawk', suggested that we 'stick around' I couldn't believe what I was hearing. The only thing that allowed me to hope was Chess' hand gripped tightly around mine, reminding me what was real.

As long as we're together, it'll be okay. That's all I was thinking as we accepted the guys' offer. Chess looked happier than I could ever remember seeing her before. And while I was pleased too, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt in my chest.  
By myself, I can't provide her with this sense of safety- no matter how much I wanted to. It's depressing, knowing that alone I can do so little for my friend who has already done so much without asking or wanting anything in return, not even provide her with adequate protection. Nothing like the protection these guys can offer, at least.

They're all much stronger than I am, each of them scoring higher than I did. Marshall towers over me in height despite being two years younger. Montserrat's mohawk, piercings and tattoos create a dangerous aura I can't hope to replicate. And Diego... it's almost like he's otherworldly in terms of sheer presence. When I saw him in the mouth of that cave roaring for Koriana... I can't describe how terrifying and awing that sight was.

Together, those three guys make such a strong team that I can't even think of questioning it. Usually alliances in the Hunger Games built between tributes for separate Districts aren't that strong... but these guys, without even knowing each other prior to all this, they trust and support each other with such an intensity that it's almost... well, tangible.

So when I saw the three of them band together around Koriana, even in that temporary state of ease, I couldn't help but feel in my heart that I had stumbled across the strongest contenders for these games. Even though I don't want to think about the odds, if I had to make an honest guess, these three are the best candidates for the victor of the 125th Hunger Games and the fifth Quarter Quell.

'_That's right..._' My eyes fall to my shoes as a glum smile grows across my lips. '_There can only be one victor in all this... just the one..._'

Out of twenty-four, only one can win. No matter how strong we all are, no matter how hard we all fight... just the one is allowed to return home from this place. While it's nice to believe Chess when she says we'll 'convince them' to let us both become victors, I know in my heart that it's impossible. It's as likely as me approaching the strength that these guys hold.

"Oi, what are you looking so down in the mouth about, Wickbird?"

Startled at the sound of a male voice rather than Chess' usual chipper tone my hand slips and I tip backwards as Marshall Matthews' grin disappears into a look of stunned concern.

"H-Hey man, sorry! I didn't mean to scare you-!" Reaching forwards, he helps me back upright and I feel my face burn with embarrassment. "Uh... I didn't... I didn't interrupt some serious meditation or something, did I?"

"N-No..." While I am still embarrassed, I don't want to admit that to Marshall. "It's nothing like that... just thinking. That's all."

"Mind if I think with you then?" Smiling awkwardly, the lanky guy plonks himself down beside me and stretches languidly. "After all that heat we had today, it's nice when things cool down like this, isn't it?"

I don't know if he's being literal or not; he could be referring to the hectic business of our little groups finding one another earlier. I just answer with a weedy smile.

"Yeah... it's nice to be able to cool down..." I murmur, staring at my hands in my lap and wishing I had something more interesting to say.

Watching me carefully, Marshall grins again.

"You can relax around us, you know that right?" I twinge. So my unease was that obvious. "We're all family here."

Gawking, I look at Marshall and wonder if I heard him correctly. "Family?"

"Ah. Oops, forgot," he laughs awkwardly and scratches weakly at the back of his head. "You wouldn't get it... we, uh... see each other as family here. Like brothers and that."

"Family?" That word sounds so foreign to me right now, trapped in an arena filled with strangers out to kill me. "That's... that's uh..."

I don't have any brothers or sisters. The only family I've ever known have been my mother, father, grandparents and a few cousins I don't quite remember meeting. Not once have I had a relationship that was anything like 'brothers' or 'sisters'.  
Although, perhaps what Chess and I have is sort of like siblings... except that would make how I feel about her incredibly inappropriate, so I quickly decide that our relationship is something else entirely.

"What I mean is, Holland, you don't have to worry about trusting us," Marshall says while I slowly tune back in. "I understand it must have been a rough week for the two of you, and it's gonna be hard to suddenly believe you're not alone anymore. But I'm being honest here, man- you and Francesca can trust us."

For some reason I realize that he doesn't say 'Koriana' but I suppose that's because it's already a given that she'll trust these guys.

Weakly smiling, I shake my head. "I wasn't worried... not about that, but thank you, Marshall. That means a lot."

Marshall looks at me with a quizzical expression.

"Then what are you looking so worried about?"

'_I don't want to tell you_.' That's what I want to say. My hands twitch as I begin to fidget again, wondering if it would be rude to say something that blunt. Instead, I swallow my pride and decide to just go ahead and tell the truth. It's not like Chess is going to hear it, sitting over there by Monty and Diego talking animatedly about Kori.

Slowly, I ease the twisting of my hands and stop trying to meet Marshall's eyes and just stare defeated at the ground.

"...I just... I can't stop thinking... about how much better off Chess would be with you guys... and... and without me."

My eyes close tightly as I realize my words while saying them aloud. I'm deadweight, aren't I? Just a chain attached to a heavy ball to weigh Francesca down as she struggles to stay afloat in this nightmare. Without me, she'd have a chance- a real chance. She may not have the strength these three guys do, but she has the energy and the drive. She has the love of the viewers. If I weren't here to hold her back, she could survive all this...

"Are you some kind of idiot or something?"

A jolt of surprise surges through me as my eyes fly open and Marshall looks at me with an incredulous look.

"What do you...?" I can feel my face flaring with embarrassment. "Why am I an idiot?"

"Because you apparently can't tell that _that girl_ over there obviously cares about you!" Marshall's eyes look like they're going to pop out of his skull as he says this. "Dude, were you guys friends before all this?"

Taken aback by his question, I stammer. "No, n-not exactly-"

"She has spent _all week_ supporting and protecting you- do you think she'd do any of that if she didn't give a damn?" Marshall covers his face with his palm for a moment before running it through his messy hair. His expression has become hard and almost angry. "Holland, no one in their right mind is going to spend what could very well be the last days of their life with someone they didn't care about. Francesca _clearly _cares more about you than anything else in all this. Stop doubting it and quit telling yourself these retarded lies about her being better off without you. Without you, she wouldn't survive..."

He trails off, suddenly overcome with an emotion I don't recognise. I watch as Marshall looks pained and rests his face on his hand again. Slowly, he begins shaking his head back and forth while mumbling.

"...no one... no one can survive in this thing alone..."

I don't know what possesses me to do it. I'm alarmed and stammering in surprise inside of my mind as I reach forwards and lightly touch upon the boy's shoulder.

"...then... I guess it's good..."

In between the gaps of his fingers I can see Marshall's blue eyes peering out at me. With a timid smile, I pull my hand away and scratch the back of my head as he had done before.

"...that we're... family."

As strange as it may feel to say...

...it's a really wonderful word...

* * *

_Cotton Ferier; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 11._

I don't remember sleeping. My body feels like it hasn't stopped moving since two days ago. The inside of my mouth is dry and my eyes continue to sting from the grit and dirt lodged in their corners. There are great long scrapes up and down my forearms, coated in dried blood. I must have fallen over at some point, but I can't remember. All I can recall is a haze of running, howling and heaving.

All I know is that I'm going to kill him. I'm going to find and kill him. I don't have a lead and I don't have a trail, but I have an anger inside me that fuels me onwards; a hungering fury that has to be satisfied.

With his head.

When I first began running after Vinel, I remember feeling upset. More upset than I've ever felt before. Everything I've ever failed at before in my life felt _miniscule _compared to being betrayed by that thick-headed jerk. I felt duped.  
I've had boyfriends before. I dumped my last boyfriend, Rexon, a month before the reapings. He was the school quarterback and was just starting to get rather popular and I was getting sick of all the comments his friends would hurl my way. I wasn't planning on going out with anyone for a while and just wanted to focus on having fun again.

Then these stupidgames happened, and I met Vinel. And I was swept off my feet like a stupid, idiotic child. I forgot why I came here. I forgot that I was fighting to go back home; fighting to prove that I'm not a bad sister. Instead, everything became about _him_.

What the hell did I know about him in the first place? That he had purple skin and was as up himself as a guy could possibly be? What did I _like _about him? It wasn't as if he had said or done anything special like vow to protect me and only me in all this. He was too busy wanting to protect that damn Sector partner to really care about me.

My nails scrape against the hard bark of a neighbouring tree as I hesitate for a moment and breathe through my teeth. Where has he gone? Where has that son of a bitch disappeared to, looking for his already hitched Sector partner?  
I will continue to search for him. I will find him. And I will kill him. The humiliation Vinel so happily left me saddled with will be the drive that ultimately sends him straight to hell.

How dare he abandon me with Natalia and her pet dog, Brandit? She's the _one _tribute in this arena I hated more than any... at least before he decided to ditch me. He knew how I felt- he even promised to run away with me- but he decides to take off without me instead? And he thought I'd just _let him get away with that?_

All I hear is the sound of my own ragged breath as I hiss into the night air.

"Like hell I'm letting him get away..."

He strung me along like I was a little girl, incapable of taking revenge on him. He probably left with a smirk on his face thinking that there was no way I could ever make it on my own long enough to track his ass down. There's no way he would have guessed just how far my determination reaches.

_"-and I'm going to win these games!"_

That's right... I said it back then... Cotton Valamine Ferier will be the _grand_ victor of this god awful Quell. I'll stand on that damn stage and stare down at the pathetic faces who watched me fight through this- and I'll laugh. I'll laugh and I'll laugh and I'll laugh.  
None of them deserve to win. No one else in this _damn _thing deserves to win besides me. The guys like Vinel _deserve _to be killed- and the girls like Natalia _deserve _to die! I won't let any of them survive this. I won't let any of them return back to that place where my family waits-!

"I'll kill them... I'll _make them all die_..."

This is the first time I've felt this level of anger. With this fury, were I to be granted a single wish I would ask that the entire world be engulfed with fire and be forced to watch as their skin bubbles and melts off their skeletons, forced to inhale the smoke and the stink of their own fumes.  
I hate them. I hate them all. Vinel, Natalia, Brandit, Minerva, Saint-Claire, Vince- all of them! I don't care anymore- I just want them all _dead! _

_ "I think... we're going to be good friends."_

And this 'good friend' is going to make you eat those words, Vinel Greggorus. I'll turn your skin purple again with my bare hands. Whether I have to choke the color out of you or bruise you until the blood rises up and makes you go dark- I don't give a shit. I'm going to make him, Natalia and Brandit pay for underestimating me.

Something in the forest trills ominously around me, but I pay it no mind. There's nothing in this arena that can stop me now. God is going to have to strike me down himself to stop me from ripping Vinel apart at the seams.  
I picture Vinel with his messy, thorny green hair and that foolish grin that I had one adored. I think of the skin that changed from purple to pink and finally to white, the stupid yellow tattoos that snaked up his arms and those violet eyes that masked the selfishness hidden inside.

I'll erase all of that from the face of this arena. And, when I'm done with him, I'll kill his little miss 'fiancée'. Then I'll go back and put a stop to Natalia's make-believe reign over this Quell and put her dog to sleep.

After that... whoever is stupid enough to cross me like they did can go...

Looking skyward, I squint through the darkness at the tiny rays of light penetrating the treetops and heralding the beginning of the eighth day.

"Good morning, everyone."

* * *

**Capitol Question #026; which of the twenty-four tributes would you have chosen for an alliance?**


	52. Between Dreams and Reality

**A Vivid Note: **Happy New Year, everyone. I wish for lovely days to fill your vacations and good feelings to fill your heart. It's the beginning of a brand new year, and I sincerely hope that 2012 is a year we can all be proud to call our own.

By chapter 60 we will reach our final 8, and by 65 we will reach the final chapter of the arena. After that, I have a series of chapters to bring back all those feelings. Flashbacks to the interviews, the victor's reel and the epilogues of each tribute's family.  
I hope you're as prepared as I am. Because I didn't come this far just to half-ass it on the finish.

**Capitol Question #027; which of the original 24 tributes did you wish to see in the final 8?**

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games.**

_Vinel Greggorus; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 4._

It's almost as if the cool and sharp-witted Minerva I had watched before these games began had never existed. Instead, I have had to lead this deranged, bedraggled woman by the hand all night in search of water to help cleanse whatever the hell she's been popping out of that little plastic bottle of hers every half hour. I tried to take it away from her- or at least get a decent look at the label- but she wouldn't have it. With my right hand clutched in her left and her muddy backpack out of reach of my left there was no way to touch the thing.

"I'm so happy you're here, Vidar," she kept saying, squeezing my hand and showing that disturbing smile of hers. "I finally feel safe with you protecting me."

No matter how many times I try and tell Minerva that I'm not her fiancé, that I'm her sector partner, she won't listen. Rather, it's like she can't even hear me. She says random benign things like 'You always say that, Vidar' and 'Oh Vidar, you're so funny!'  
I don't understand how she can believe in this delusion that her fiancé has somehow come to protect her in the middle of the Quarter Quell. Minerva's a smart girl; she should know that what she's dreaming up is impossible. No one can enter, and no one can leave.

Well, one can... but only one.

I suppress the smallest of shudders as I think of the remaining twenty-three, doomed to die so the last may leave. It seems a little unfair, only one leaving while the others fall to horrible deaths. Still, it's not like I gave a damn about any of this before I was a part of it myself. Until now I couldn't have cared less if all twenty-four tributes died. Shit, they could've had twice that many and I wouldn't have batted an eyelid. They were just District kids after all.

Only now do I realise that other 'District kids' are probably watching this and thinking the exact same thing I was- 'just a Capitol kid,' they say while smirking. 'Who gives a shit what happens to him?'

'_It only matters now because I'm finally the one at stake._' My gaze lowers to the forest floor as the guilt builds up in my throat. '_I never gave a shit before because it didn't really concern me..._'

Weaving her fingers between mine, Minerva leans across and smiles kindly. "Are you getting tired, Vidar?"

"Vinel," I murmur lifelessly. "I'm not Vidar. I'm Vinel."

With a giggle, she looks upwards and swings our joined hands slightly. "You're absolutely right. This place is quite beautiful if you stop to think about it."

My hand goes limp in hers as she begins to hum quietly to herself. It's not a song I recognise, but is no doubt some tune that holds a lot of meaning to her and Vidar.  
At first I didn't feel much for the guy, other than slight resentment for having hooked himself a girl like Minerva and actually having the drive to settle down in the first place; a drive that I had lacked. Now I really feel for the poor bastard, at home watching his dream girl holding hands with some younger guy as they traipse through a forest of horrors.

This place wouldn't be beautiful to him. It's probably the backdrop of his nightmares, but that's if he's even managed to get any sleep while all this is going on. I can't say I'd blame him if he's been awake for the past week- staring intently at the television screen waiting for some sign that Minerva might be coming home.  
He mustn't like me very much. I certainly wouldn't if I were in his position, even if he were doing his best to keep my Minerva alive. I'd never be able to shake the feeling that he'd lose interest and kill the deranged thing before she goes ape-shit and stabs him first.

Suddenly I feel very aware of Minerva's hand entwined with mine. What will she do if she finally hears what I've been saying and realises that I'm not Vidar? She very well could go insane and try to put an arrow in my skull. What would I do then; fight her off? I don't like the idea, but I like the idea of being slaughtered even less. I was prepared to kill Cotton if it came down to it... so why not Minerva?

'_Cotton was smaller and didn't have that much strength,_' my head answers darkly. '_And she doesn't have an enraged boyfriend waiting for you back home should you actually win this.'_

While I'm not entirely sure the latter is true- Cotton _could _have a boyfriend after all, only she'd have to be a lot more promiscuous than Minerva if that was the case- the rest is right. Cotton didn't have the strength to hold me down if it boiled down to a physical fight. Minerva, while thinner than I, has a lot of muscle in her upper arms and shoulders- and if pushed she just might have the power to hold me down long enough to smash my head against something hard.

'_Just imagine how beautiful you'll be with the back of your skull cracked open, Vinel._'

Just as I'm considering pulling my hand free and _physically_ beating away these paranoia inducing thoughts of mine, a softly glowing light catches my eye just as Minerva croons softly.

"Oh... oh, what's that?" Whispering quietly, Minerva pulls her body close to mine and looks at me excitedly. "Do you see that?"

Honestly I don't know for sure if we're seeing the same thing, since in her eyes I'm not myself and this place is apparently 'beautiful', but I grunt and nod as I continue to squint ahead towards the source of the rippling golden light reflecting all around us. It seems to be sunlight reflecting off a large water source a little ways ahead.  
Right. I clench my teeth together and begin to forge our way ahead, holding tightly on to Minerva's wrist. Hopefully I can use the water to slowly detox Minerva from whatever the hell she's been taking all this time; eventually bring her back to her senses.

At least, that's what I'm hoping to accomplish. I've never helped detox a person before, and I don't know if it's something that can be done without IVs and expensive therapy.

But I have to at least try. There's no way this Minerva can survive here, even with my help. So I've got to do everything I possibly can to give her the best possible chance of survival.

"Slow down, Vidar! I can't keep up with you like this-!"

If only I was heartless enough to leave her in my dust.

The intensity of the sunlight being reflected into my eyes is blinding. The smell of damp soil and decomposing leaves is thick in the air the closer we draw to the sounds of trickling water. As the forest begins to divide and we near the clearing my mouth begins to tingle from anticipation. I've been thirsting for this too ever since I finished my tiny portion of the water ration that Natalia gave me before I took off.

"Vidar," Minerva cries. "Slow down please! I can't keep up!"

"No way," I'm almost too breathless to speak. "We're almost there-"

I push hard against the trunk of the last tree and stumble out into the opening, squinting through the sun's brilliance. As I hear the water lapping gently against the banks of the lake, my eyes slowly begin to see through the overwhelming splendour.

And as I finally see the lake with its rippling golden waters in full, the hand that holds Minerva's slackens.

"…what… what is this…?"

Staggering forwards, my boots sink deep in the mud of the shoreline while Minerva fights for breath. Without thinking about it, I fall to my knees and let my hands settle into the dirt as I stare out across the gold lake, dazed.  
This… this isn't… this isn't it… is it…? There's got to be more than this obviously tainted lake… right? We've come so far after all… this isn't fair..! This isn't fair-!

Punching my knuckles into the dirt, I clench and unclench my jaw while tears of frustration burn the corners of my eyes. I'm slightly aware of Minerva standing behind me as this pathetic wheezing sound begins to whine out of my throat.

"Why are you crying, Vidar? What's wrong?"

A pair of hands gingerly touches my shoulders, followed by a pair of brittle arms that encircle my neck. I try to supress the gurgling in my throat and clench my jaw in agony, staring bitterly up at the sky as that unforgiving sun that looks so cruelly down at me.

As that sun burns my corneas, I finally lose my patience with all the lies.

"I am NOT—_VIDAR_—!"

Minerva yelps as she goes sliding backwards through the mud. Stumbling back, knee deep in this putrid golden water, I spin around and stare desperately down at the woman who looks up at me with a childlike expression of fear.

"I'M VINEL GREGGORUS!" Slamming my hand against my chest, I close my eyes as I shout those words. "I AM NOT YOUR _FIANCÉ, _I AM NOT YOUR_ VIDAR-_ I AM YOUR SECTOR PARTNER AND IF YOU DON'T COME TO YOUR DAMN SENSES_ WE ARE GOING TO-"_

And as I open my eyes for the final delivery, my voice and the truth come to a reeling halt as Minerva's suddenly poised arrow gleams with its murderous silver and the reflected gold of the water. I take a step backwards as I catch sight of the crazed look on her face returns one more time.

_ "YOU __LIAR__—!"_

Her fingers release the string.

* * *

_Natalia Marinos; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 2._

A cannon rang out while Brandit and I were eating breakfast. I had a large mouthful of cheese and bread and almost all of it came flying out in surprise.

"Easy there," Brandit says with a small smile. "Don't choke, Natalia."

With wide eyes I stare at him in disbelief. "What are you acting so calm about? That was a cannon just now, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, I heard it," Brandit murmurs as he bites into a bun and tears off a sizeable chunk, chewing it slowly. "It just doesn't really surprise me anymore, I guess. It's been three days since someone died. I guess I was just thinking that it was about time for someone else to go."

The way he says this in such a blank monotone frustrates me a little. I don't know if he's putting on a brave face because he doesn't want me to worry, or if he's trying to act disinterested so we won't have to talk about the possibility of who just bit the dust.  
Brandit is right. It's been a long time since we saw Farraday's face up in the stars. I just want to know who just joined him. Was it Marshall or one of the idiots he's hanging around with? Or could it have been Vinel, or- dare I dream it- Cotton? It might have even been Ari Saint-Claire or her little lap pet, Sykora.

If it's any of them, I'll be content. Even if it isn't one of them and it's someone I don't give a damn about, like the pair from three or Brandit's sector partner, it just means that I'm one step closer to winning all this.  
Of course, I have a feeling that if Brandit's partner's face were to light up the sky tonight it might put a damper on things. He might not want to admit it aloud, but I think he pities the girl and wants to make up for scaring her before the games began.

It's hard trying to figure this boy out. While I did the best I could trying to understand the psychology behind his spur of the moment volunteering, I'm not entirely sure that's truly why he was up for all this in the first place.  
Still, it's not like it really matters. He's been- dare I say it- a good friend to me in all this. Back home I didn't have a lot of friends... any, actually, and especially no one I had the gall to make out with.

Now that I think about it that was my first kiss I gave away. I swallow the remaining traces of bread as I consider this fact.  
A first kiss is something you're supposed to share for someone special. Usually girls are upset if their first is wasted or squandered on someone they don't really like, but to be honest I wasn't really saving mine for anyone.

Huh. Out of the corner of my eye I watch Brandit sneeze into his sleeve and stifle a snicker. I wouldn't say that he's the sort of guy I anticipated kissing, but he's not that different. He's tall for someone a year younger than me, and it's not like he looks bad. It's obvious that the boy takes care of himself.  
Still, I don't really understand my own feelings about this situation. And to be completely honest, I don't think I have the time to sit around thinking about them. It's been too long since I took action, and if I keep sitting here in this cage of rose thorns I'm probably going to go insane and do something stupid like kiss him again. Then I'll be doomed to repeat this useless train of thought.

"We need to get moving."

My words surprise Brandit, who was just finishing off his breakfast. Rewrapping the cheese, he eyes me curiously.

"Where are we going?" He asks.

For a moment thought he was going to ask why, and I had prepared a long spiel about the necessity to be on the offensive. But with him smiling coyly at me and not questioning my motive I'm left temporarily without words.

"W-Well…" God damn it, Natalia. "Just… away from here, alright? We need to get back on the offensive, or before we know it someone is going to come charging in here to take us out. We're sitting ducks in this dome, especially now that it's just the two of us here and there could be much bigger alliances going on out there."

The words don't make much sense to me while I'm speaking them, I'm so quick to get them out that they feel muddled and unprepared in my mouth, but Brandit nods in agreement. Glancing skyward, his expression becomes grim before he looks back down and glances inside the cornucopia.

"As long as we aren't going upwards, I'm fine."

Eyes flitting upwards for a moment, I feel a sick sensation in my stomach that I can't explain. "Yeah. Not up there."

I'm not climbing up there any sooner than I have to, and judging from the feeling of dread building in the pit of my stomach- that's probably what the game makers have in store for… for later.

'_They always do 'save the best for last,_' I think cynically.

"What are we going to do with the remaining supplies?" Brandit asks, gesturing to our still surprisingly large supply cache. "We can't possibly take all of it with us, and whatever we leave behind will be up for grabs."

Thinking of allowing any of our surplus to fall into the hands of any of the others makes me feel like shrieking, but there's really no other choice. We couldn't possibly carry the contents of all of these crates and barrels, let alone the arsenal of weapons we've barely touched. We're bound to leave something behind.

Brandit watches me with mild amusement as my face no doubt shows the difficult choices I'm making in my head. He rustles up several backpacks we had been using as pillows and holds them up for me to see.

"Take your pick," he grins, wiggling the bags by their straps. "Just know that I particularly fancy the grey."

"Then you shouldn't have said so," I say with a smirk, reaching forward and snatching the medium-sized grey pack from his hand.

Rolling his eyes, Brandit drops one of the bags and unzips the other. "This is why I lied. Brown is obviously my colour."

With a scoff, I can't help but smile as Brandit begins dividing the food and water between our two packs while murmuring about hiding some of the supplies up in the cornucopia's hollowed out tail so that if our little base is ransacked before we get back we'll still have some stock secretly stashed away.

All too quickly though the smile fades away.

It won't be long before another tribute's cannon booms again.

And I can only hope that it's one of us who are the ones setting that cannon off.

* * *

_Vince Pace; 12 years; the Capitol Sector 11._

Fifteen little tributes left. Well, I guess fourteen little tributes left, if I'm trying to count down how many are still standing in the way of me and my victory. It seems like it was only yesterday that I was standing before that little angel Liotta as she hung helplessly in that thicket of vines. The pleading look in her eyes as I held that knife right up to her desperate face… it's still so vivid that I can picture it now…

Wandering alone in these woods gives me a lot of time to think about nothing. Sometimes I find myself humming songs I don't quite recognise and dwelling on things from years gone by. Television shows I once watched, books I picked up and soon discarded and classmates I never really got to know. Anything and everything to pass the time between now and my next opportunity.

It has been some time since my botched attack on Saint-Claire and her violent partner. The lack of a cannon made me suspicious and less confident that my attack was deep enough to kill the guy. I'm not counting on the cannon from earlier being Laco Sykora's.  
If only I had been given more time to properly finish him off right then and there. Perhaps Ari would have starved or sobbed herself to death shortly after and there would only be eleven tributes left to deal with right now. That thought makes me stop walking entirely and weakly kick my feet against a stray clump of dirt.

I'm becoming bored of this. This would be fine if it were an endless spiel of fountaining blood and shredded people meat- but so far it's just been one long, boring trek through a forest filled with the quietest animals imaginable. To be honest I was expecting more ferocious muttations, this being a Quarter Quell and all, but it's been rather quiet so far. Almost too quiet.

"_They use mutts if things aren't progressing fast enough, not enough people being killed,_" my father once told me. "_They're a game-changer of sorts, making things more exciting, understand?_"

Remembering this makes me smile. We used to always watch these games together, he and I. I remember how exciting it was when a tribute we didn't like was put to rest. Dad would always explain to me what was happening inside their body while we watched. He told me about how if a person is punched in the head and that head slams against a wall, the brain will take the full impact. There were funnier little facts he knew as well- kicking someone in the nose can send the bone jutting into the brain, the femur being the hardest bone in the body to break, that it's possible to pull a person's ear clean off if you have the right angle…

He always preferred the more physical side of the games, I guess. Brawls, wrestling and fist-fights were his favourite moments. Whenever the weapons were cast aside and the tributes were left to their own devices- that was when Dad would pull me in close and whisper-

"_Get ready for it-_"

Something cracks nearby, followed by a hiss. Tensing, my hand whips my knife out of my pocket and I'm poised to dodge. There is a series of small, shriek-like noises followed by dead leaves rustling under a tribute's boot. I back up a little, but not so far that I'm cornered against one of the mammoth trees. Whoever is there is too close for me to successfully run from. My only choice is to see if this is someone I can pull my 'innocent' trick or if this is someone I'll have to… _gut_.

The snarling tribute lets out a quiet screech. "Oh for the love of-!"

And out from behind the tree she emerges, her white-blonde hair no longer perfectly straightened and her skin no longer flawless, Cotton Valamine Ferier stumbles into the open and our eyes meet almost instantly.

Her eyes narrow and her voice drips with distaste. "…_you?_"

I don't quite know how to act. The Cotton I remember, my harebrained sector partner, didn't hold herself the way this Cotton does. Her eyes were filled with frustration and resentment- but not this level of poison. Whatever has happened to her since we last ate dinner together, it's done the impossible and destroyed her naivety.

"C-_Cotton_," I gasp, blinking away my crocodile tears of fright and clutching my hands together. "…h-how are you…?"

Frowning, her hand disappears behind her back. "About to be a lot better."

Surprised, I shift to the side as Cotton pulls out her weapon. At first I think it's a bamboo blade or a spear of sorts judging on its length- until I see the mouth piece and the hollowed end and feel a pang of envy unlike any I've felt before.

A blow gun? It's much bigger than the one I was sent. Mine seems like a toy compared to this gorgeous piece of work. The empty vials of poison feel even more worthless in my pocket, rattling together as I stumble back, keeping a steady eye on Cotton as she reaches into her pockets for the darts.

Alright. Get ready for it.

"Cotton," I stammer, shaking my head as she slowly fits the dart into the end with her thumb. "Don't kill me… please… I haven't done anything to you…"

My words do exactly what I wanted them to do. They make her hesitate. Cotton's face contorts with rage and her hand tightens over the handle of her dart gun, eyes swivelling upwards to stare me down.

"You haven't… _done anything_…?" Cotton whispers, ragged and breathless. "You… you ruined my chances… by being my sector partner… the chariots… training… you were so god _damn weak _that they just assumed that I was too… you brought me down… you brought me down to _your level_… and that's _entirely_… _entirely—your—FAULT!_"

She swings the gun's nozzle towards me and rams the other end to her lips just as I skid forwards across the ground. My heart begins to pound as all the boredom of the past few days vanishes in a blur of adrenaline and I feel the knife pulsating in my hand.

Let's make you proud, father.

"No, Cotton-!"

By the time her eyes catch where I am I've whipped my arm into the side of her gun and sent it flying. As she screeches and grasps for it in mid-air I swing the knife out of my pocket.

"_THAT WAS YOUR FAULT!_"

And with one thrust, the entire length of the blade disappears inside of Cotton's left calf. Squinting as the blade handle tremors and vibrates as the screaming girl grabs for my hair. Blood begins to bead along where the knife entered her leg, and as I wrench it free and tear it out of her body she lets out a blood curdling shriek-

"AH- SHIT-_! SHIT-!_"

Thrashing and twisting on her wobbling leg, Cotton falls to the ground howling. Unable to control myself, I beam with pride as she struggles to reach her fallen toy. It's within her grasp- too far for me to get to in time without her getting it first- so I leap backwards and give her a hard kick to the groin before laughing hysterically at her startled cry of pain.

It's so funny that girls think they're exempt from being hurt there like men are. They're just as vulnerable as we are, and it's just so obvious that Cotton believes herself to be higher than me. To be higher than anyone in this game.

Thank god I 'brought her down to _my level_.'

"Die in the dirt like the filthy mongrel _bitch _that you are, Ferier!" I spit, eyes narrowing with glee. "And be damn thankful for the opportunity!"

Gagging and choking on her own spit, her hand frozen in the act of picking up her dirty weapon, Cotton's pain-filled face is frozen in a petrified look as I turn and run as fast as possible into the forest, relishing in the traces of blood that fleck my hand.

Perhaps I don't always get the chance to kill people outright, but at least I destroy what's important. Hope, bonds, unwarranted pride… it's so nice to know what one little knife can accomplish.

The memory of Liotta's eyes staring up at me flicker through my mind.

…eheh… eheheh…

One… little knife…

* * *

_Marshall Matthews; 14 years; the Capitol Sector 2._

As the day wore on, the euphoria of meeting our new team mates began to wear off and a new sense of dread began to settle in. A cannon had gone off earlier, meaning that it was no joke when those television hosts would laugh that the game makers really 'step up their game' around the week long mark.  
Before long, that cannon will be going off more and more. We won't be able to sit around drinking chocolate milk and sharing life stories; we'll be forced to move on from this place. Soon will come the onslaught of monstrous animals, fierce disasters and the bloodthirsty tributes that outlasted the meek ones.

In all honesty, I don't know if we're really prepared for the battle that's ahead of us. Diego is still on the mend, Holland seems to be dealing with some emotional trauma and Kori'… well, she…

I glance over to where Diego still cradles the lifeless girl and feel a lump emerge in my throat. She hasn't shown any signs of waking up since Francesca and Holland brought her here. Her body was ice cold when we laid her down and her clothes were soaking wet. Without really caring for regular procedure, where a girl would usually undress another unconscious girl- I guess for reasons concerning modesty, Diego wasted no time in having Kori stripped of her freezing clothing save the apparently standard tribute underwear and wrapped tightly in one of our blankets.

"She'll catch hypothermia otherwise," Montserrat explained to me when I had protested with a yelp followed by averting my gaze. "That's why you're not supposed to get drenched in the rain and continue wearing wet clothes."

While he said that just fine, I could tell Monty was just as embarrassed by the situation as well. I guess none of us really expected any underwear-clad girls to make an appearance in these games.

Since Diego is taking care of her, doing his best to never let go of her for too long, I've done my best not to worry about her and just focus on helping out our newest friends, but now and then I find myself feeling a little concerned. While Kori' is soundly breathing, she's not exactly responding to anything or showing any signs of life. I heard Francesca wondering how long a person in a coma can last without water, and that made the rest of us panic. We don't know how to keep her alive if this keeps up. None of us have the medical training to create a makeshift IV for her.

"We will make it through, somehow," was all Diego said, closing his eyes and resting burying his face in her tangled and dirty white hair.

Swallowing the troublesome lump in my throat, I look over at the others who sit much closer to me than Diego. Francesca is sipping very slowly at her water ration while Holland laughs awkwardly about something he's just said. I watch as the girl almost drops her lid of water and bursts into giggles- causing Holland to throw his hands up defensively and babble apologetically even faster than before.  
It's impossible not to like those two. Francesca is bubbly and warm with an inspiring energy no one else here has, and Holland is a humble, kind sort of guy who clearly cares a lot about his sector partner.

Holland and I talked a bit yesterday about his insecurities, and while I'm not sure it completely dispelled his worries of being 'useless', he does seem a lot more comfortable now. His eyes no long shy away from mine and he's actually participating in conversations with Monty and I a lot more. He's still quite fidgety, but I don't think that's going to change. It's probably more of a coping mechanism than nerves.

Without warning, the opening notes of the anthem begin to resound through the arena, causing several of us to jolt in surprise. There was a cannon today, so I scramble to my feet and sprint over to the nearest patch in the forest's canopy in order to view who that cannon belonged to. I hear the footsteps of Holland and Francesca not too far behind, and Montserrat softly calling that they'll stay put.

"Who do you think it was?" Francesca's voice is surprisingly timid and nervous sounding.

I press my lips together. I know who I want it to be. "No idea."

The three of us practically inhale and hold our breath in unison as the eagle of Panem wavers in the static. I stare up, eyes unblinking and watering from the strain, focusing as hard as possible on that bleak sky when the face of the male tribute from 4 appears.

Vinel. One of Natalia's group. Francesca lets out a sigh of relief and I see her drop Holland's hand, which she must have been holding onto for support. Holland rubs it guardedly before catching my eye and smiling weakly.

"Didn't see that coming, did you?"

No. It's always a surprise whenever one of Natalia's 'Capitol Careers' die, although it's definitely a welcome surprise. I guess I was expecting it to be one of the younger tributes, or one of the girls or something like Ari Saint-Claire or that girl from 11.  
Actually, now that I think about it, the girl from 11 was hanging around with Vinel throughout the pre-games protocol… I wonder when they went different ways.

At this moment there are seven girls and eight boys left in the arena. Usually the gender ratio wouldn't be so even, but I suppose this isn't the most usual game to have happened. Our bloodbath was miniscule after all, compared to some of the other years where the number of tributes was practically halved.  
But who's going to go next? Will the next face in the sky be another one that I can shrug off, or will it finally be a pair of eyes that'll send me reeling into the despair I've been fending off?

Trudging back to my spot beside the bags, I look down at Diego as I pass him.

"It was the guy from four," I say blankly. "One less of Natalia's crew, I guess."

Diego doesn't say anything, but he lifts his head out of Kori's hair and, gently laying her down upon her sleeping bag, stares up at the dark canopy above.

"It feels as if it is going to rain soon… very heavy rain."

Huh? I look up at the sky just as the closing notes of the anthem finish playing. How can he tell? There weren't that many clouds in the sky today, what is there to tell him that it'll rain, let alone rain 'heavy rain'?  
Still, there's no real reason to doubt Diego. Montserrat begins to pack up our things and assists Diego in carrying Kori' to the cave entrance. Apparently the plan is to cover as much of the icy rock floor with branches of the softer shrubbery and roll out our gear on top of it as a way of preventing the cold.

Someone tugs on my sleeve. I turn around and am surprised to see Francesca looking up at me with a concerned expression.

"Marshall, are you okay?" Her voice is quiet, probably not wanting the others to hear. "Before, when you saw that guy's face- you looked a little sad."

Taken aback, I look at her strangely. "What? No, I'm fine. I, uh…"

My voice trails off as I realise that I probably did look sad. The more tributes I don't find important die, the more and more likely that one of these days it's going to be someone I care about. There's no way of telling myself it isn't going to happen- it's already happening. The second each of us was reaped it was guaranteed. Twenty-three will die, and one will live.

This means, even in the best case scenario, only one of us six is ever going to leave this place…

…or all of us die…

"Marshall?"

Francesca looks at me with a familiar expression of concern and fear. Without realising my face had gone stiff and I had begun to glare into the middle distance. Not wanting the girl to see, I shake my head and briskly turn away.

"Forget about it."

Out of sight, I bite my teeth together and rub furiously at the tears building in my eyes.

This isn't fair. Damn it. God damn it all.

* * *

_Minerva Nanaia; 18 years; the Capitol Sector 4._

It's strange, but I can't remember how I got here. There's mud smeared all up my back and I feel like I've been crying, but inside I feel strangely peaceful… almost as if I have someone watching over me, and there's no need for me to be scared anymore.

The golden lake is beautiful. I was hesitant at first, but I slowly worked up my courage and dipped in one of my fingers. The water was a pleasant, relaxing temperature that just made me want to sink my whole body into it and let this wonderful sensation wash over me. I took off my shoes and rolled up the legs of my pants just so I could soak my aching, blistered feet in its waters, and the moment I submerged them to the ankles I let out a moan of relief.

Something in the water must be acting as a pain-killer of sorts because my aching feet almost feel like they're glowing. I lazily kick my feet back and forth through the water, sighing as I lie back on the soft grass and open my eyes to the night sky above.  
I can't explain it, but I feel like I was having a nice dream. Vidar was there holding my hand and telling me that everything was going to be fine. Then he led me here to this lake and… I woke up and found myself all alone with the sun setting behind the forest.

At first I was really frightened, but when it became apparent that I'm the only one in the vicinity I slowly calmed down and did a stock check of my supplies. I still have no food or water, although luckily I still have my bow and a handful of arrows. I could've sworn I had more when I last checked though.  
My little bottle of pills is finally empty. I guess I took them all without realizing. I was a little upset when I noticed, those pills gave me all this wonderful energy I couldn't explain, but I came to terms with that as well.

It wasn't until the sky I'm staring at now flashed the deaths for today did I finally feel a sense of devastation I wasn't prepared to deal with.

High above, projected over the stars against the murky black of the night sky, my mouth slowly opened in horror as Vinel Greggorus' face stared blankly down at me.

"_He's dead-?_"

My stomach felt as if it had melted away inside of me. I scrambled up off the ground and shouted those words in desperation for an answer. Frantic, I clawed at the air towards that old photograph of that purple skinned boy and felt my entire body go numb.  
He said he'd help me. He said he was going to protect me. Then why is he dead? Why is Vinel dead-?

Before I knew it I was crying. At first it was only little tears slipping out of the corners of my eyes, but as the reality began to sink in the harder I started to cry. Vinel was gone from this world, and he could never come back. With my knees tucked into my chest and my face buried into my knees I began to rock with the sobs and allowed myself to cry freely.  
For some reason I thought that maybe, just maybe, he would come find me and we would help each other out of this place. Maybe they would allow two victors from the same sector if the audience found us likeable enough. My father often talked of the time that almost happened- how close we once came to having two victors.

As I lie here, staring up at the place in the sky where Vinel's face disappeared, I think of the fondness in my father's voice as he spoke of those miracle games. It was easy to tell that he wished that the star-crossed lovers had not been star-crossed at all, and that they had really had a chance to live together.  
But they were doomed from the start. The term 'star-crossed' means that everything was against them, right from the start. I've written short stories that used the term liberally, and it wasn't until recently that I truly understood what being 'star-crossed' means.

It means that destiny won't allow you to be together. Whether you are family, friends or lovers- you just cannot be together because the fates have deemed it so. And, while so many stories, both real and not real, like to say that fighting fate is not only possible- but it's _easy… _I know now that it isn't as easy as the stories say... it might not even be possible.

Raising my left hand to the stars, I spread out my fingers and gaze up at the stars wedged between each finger.

"If fighting fate was at all possible…"

The engagement ring gleams hopefully upon my ring finger. Swallowing, I ball my hand up into a fist and think hard on all of the tributes who have already died. Not just those of these games, but of every tribute of every game- the fallen tributes of the past one hundred and twenty four Hunger Games.

"…wouldn't someone…"

Well over two thousand tributes have died for no reason other than to appease a rebellion that occurred over a hundred years ago. Girls and boys who had barely begun to live were sacrificed for an insurgency they had no hand or part in. What did they do to deserve this fate? What did _we _do?

"…have already done something…?"

Is this really our destiny? Was Vinel born into this world just to die on live television, and nothing more? What is that even accomplishing? Surely those who died in the rebellion- both District and Capitol- would find no satisfaction or appeasement in the death of a boy with vibrantly coloured hair, would they?

I let my hand fall back to my side and close my eyes to the sparkling stars above me. I'm tired, and I feel so very hollow now.

A droplet of rain falls onto my nose.

* * *

_Koriana Wilder; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 8._

"Kori? Kori', it's time to wake up, Kori!"

The warm blanket covering my head feels abnormally heavy as I intake suddenly and shoot straight up out of bed. It feels a little as though I've been underwater for a very long time and only just coming up for air now. Bleary eyed and blinking away the crust of sleep, I slowly shift about in my bed before looking up into the face of my younger brother.

"Damon...? Damon, what are you doing here..?" I groan, pushing my hands against my throbbing head. Am I hung over? What is this weird sensation I'm having?

Those golden eyes lean ever closer. "I know that if I leave you here there's _no way _you'll be ready in time to leave."

Leave? My heart lurches as I stare wildly at Damon for an explanation. Where am I leaving for? I can't remember anything about yesterday... I don't think I know what day it is either. Bunching my hands against my clean white sheets, I start looking around my room for some sign, some _clue _as to what is going on.

"Kori', it's the first day of your new semester," says Damon with a worried expression. "Are you... are you feeling alright?"

I don't answer him, because I don't know what to tell him. Am I alright? My body feels heavy and sluggish like I've been hit with slab of bricks, and even though I can't see anything wrong with me- something feels very out of place. Almost as if I'm not supposed to be here.

"Maybe you shouldn't go to school today, Kori'... I can call the enemy for you if you want?"

Suddenly startled, I frantically scramble out of bed. "Enemy?"

"K-Kori, relax! I mean our mother?" Damon edges away from me, alarmed. "...what's with you today?"

What… what _is _wrong with me today? My heart is pounding faster than ever before, and every breath I take feels laboured and painful. Am I sick? Damon reaches forwards and gingerly places his palm against my forehead, frowning as I struggle to maintain a grip on what is happening around me.

"...you don't feel sick..." Damon murmurs. "I wish Marabeth was still here but she's already left for work... maybe I should just call Mom-"

"No!" Without meaning to I let out a shriek that knocks Damon back. "D-Don't call her, I'm fine! I'm just a bit dizzy, I haven't... I probably haven't had anything to drink for a while or something. I'll be okay. Just... just leave me to get ready for school, okay?"

It's obvious that he doesn't believe me, but Damon exits my bedroom and leaves me to piece together my muddled thoughts. I sit on my bed and hold my head in my hands, scrunching my face up in agony as I strain to remember something- _anything _about yesterday.  
I've never had this sensation before... it's like I'm forgetting something really important and my body is struggling to remember what it is. Did I hit my head or something yesterday and now I have amnesia? Was I lobotomized?

My chest feels tight as I lift my head and slowly turn to face my wardrobe mirror, wondering what horrible sight I'll find when I look at myself. I expect to see something terrible, like a malnourished skeletal frame, a great wound across my head or some sort of monstrous being- but when our eyes meet all I see is a very frightened Koriana Wilder gazing back at me.

...am I... going crazy...?

Nothing seems out of place in this room. I crawl on my hands and knees, expecting to find a shred of evidence to support my feeling that something is going on, but I find nothing out of the ordinary. My secret sketches are stashed beneath my mattress, the closet is chock-a-block with dresses of all styles and colours and even the world outside my window doesn't pose anything strange at all.

Pressing my hands against the icy glass, I scour the street below with frantic eyes.

'_Why... why do I feel so uneasy...?_'

The outfit that I'm guessing I had chosen for school today hangs neatly upon the doorknob, and as I reach forward and take it off of its coat hanger I feel a knot of tension in my stomach loosen a little. For some strange reason I feel like starting this new semester is something I wasn't actually ever going to get around to... almost as if there was something else I had to do first, and that school was… something I was really looking forward to.

'_There isn't anything strange about the rest of the house either_,' I note as I walk down the stairwell, examining everything from the carpet to the wall hangings as I pass them. '_So why do I feel so on edge...?_'

Damon greets me in the lounge room with a piece of toast coated with hazelnut spread. I open my mouth to ask why he is staying home, only for him to promptly shove the toast in before I could form the question.

"You look great, sis!" Grinning, my little brother gives me a big thumbs up. "If you start to feel too sick for school, just call mom, okay? I know she can be a bit cold, but you're still her daughter. She does care, you know."

Confused, I nod in reply. For some reason I feel that if this toast wasn't wedged between my teeth- I'd argue that mom clearly doesn't give a damn about whether I'm sick or not. The reason why I'm so sure of that however I can't... I can't really recall...

"Oh- and before you go- I got you a present! It's a good luck charm, since you seemed sort of worried about starting a new semester and all. Plus charm bracelets are all the rage, right? Eheh-"

Taking sudden hold of my arm and holding it out, Damon's hands fasten a small, delicate chain bracelet together over my wrist. Mouth full of toast and hazelnut spread, I can only watch as he pulls his hands away and smiles awkwardly, awaiting my reaction.  
The charm bracelet looks expensive. Much more than Damon should be able to afford. Clipped on is one lonely little charm- a small, shiny blue pencil.

"Do you like it?" Damon watches me anxiously.

Something about the little blue pencil is familiar. Just like everything else this morning, this bracelet feels out of place in the world.

Whispering, I run my fingers over the delicate silver links that encircle my wrist. "I love it... it's wonderful, Damon... you shouldn't have."

Eyes lit up with pleasure, Damon chuckles slightly.

"Yes, well- I would've given it to you sooner- I bought the charm a month ago, but saving up for the bracelet took me a while. I just really wanted today to be special for you, and I thought it could be a token of appreciation for everything you've done for me."

_Token._

Something is triggered along with that word.

Without warning, my vision becomes garbled. Flashes of things I don't recognise flit through my mind's eye like sparks; Damon sobbing into my lap, Marabeth whispering at me with hollow eyes, the words '_Fight on_-' on a fluttering red banner and a tall boy staring at me with frightening dark eyes-

"Kori'? Kori'! Kori', what's wrong? Are you okay?"

Someone is holding me. Damon's hands grip me by my shoulders, shaking me softly- but I can't feel anything. My lips tremble in horror as I begin seeing faces of people I've never met before, faces sneering and snarling with hatred, a girl being blown into scraps, a sword being swung; all of it in a flurrying haste that makes me feel sick.

Damon is shouting something. My body hurts so much as I struggle to remain kneeling and not crumple to the floor. Everything is so cold. Why am I so cold? Why does everything hurt so much-?

"Kori! Kori- I'm calling for help, Kori'- it's all going to be okay!"

Body seizing up, I feel an immense surge of panic throughout my being.

_I... I feel like I'm forgetting something important... like... like..._

Closing my eyes, I let myself fall through the whirlwind of faces, voices and screams resounding inside my head, trying to either focus hard enough to distinguish what they are or… to block them out entirely-!

_...like I was supposed to do something... something of vital importance..._

...but... but everything hurts so much... can't I... can't I just forget...?

"_Kori, please wake up!_"

* * *

**Capitol Question #027; which of the original 24 tributes did you wish to see in the final 8?**


	53. Thunder, Teeth and Lightning

**A Vivid Note: **I'm becoming a little nervous because of how close we are to the climax. I'm so fond of each of these characters, but I'm tasked with slowly cutting my way through each of them.  
Thank you for your continuous help and support. I'm still stunned at the enormous response I've received for this series and it's been a delight to write. I'm very glad to be able to share this with you. Expect yet another effusive thank you when I have finished.

This chapter was written in a bit of a hurry towards the end, so be sure to point out any of the more glaring errors I've made. It would be a big help.

Also, slight language warning (yes, the F-Bomb will be dropped for the first time since chapter 39) and I have made it purposefully ambiguous as to which tribute dies this chapter. Think of it as a little surprise- a fun guessing game to play. And yes, I will be pull this sort of shit more than once.

**Capitol Question #28; what kind of weather do you like and dislike the most?**

**Special Event #003; which seven tributes of the original twenty-four do you feel match with which of the seven deadly sins? (**_Pride, Greed, Envy, Wrath, Lust, Gluttony and Sloth_**)**

**(Example: **Pride: tribute A, Greed: tribute B, Envy: tribute C, Wrath: tribute D, Lust: tribute E, Gluttony: tribute F and Sloth: tribute G- match up the sins with the tribute who most suits it.)

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Ferroh Axum; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 7._

The wind is howling in my ears as Faye and I sprint and slip through the liquid mud sloshing all over our boots. With one hand clamped tight around Faye's and the other shielding my eyes from the fierce downpour, I squint through the storm in the hopes of finding some shelter from the ferocious wind and rain.

'_This storm came out of nowhere_,' I think with gritted teeth. '_I guess things weren't exciting enough._'

We were expecting something like this to happen eventually and when that cannon went off yesterday the count finally dropped to fifteen, making it the perfect time to kick the game difficulty up a notch. Things have been pretty easy for us so far, aside from that close call yesterday that has left my jaw bruised, but I doubt we'll be able to relax like that anymore. From here on Faye and I are going to have to work much harder.  
That's why it was a relief for a canteen of water to float down into our midst as we stopped for a breather yesterday. Neither of us had slept after our encounter with the tributes from Sector 4 and we were starting to wear a little thin when the reasonably sized bottle came drifting down by its little silver parachute.

"Ah!" Faye-Anna's eyes bulged from their sockets. "W-We got something! We got something!"

Both of us had forgotten what it was like to see a sponsor gift descend from the sky. It's such a relief and a joy that it makes you forget questioning how it makes it past the thick roof of intersecting tree branches high above.  
I let Faye-Anna hold onto the water canteen. We both drank from it, trying our best not to chug it down all at once, before replacing the cap and forging onwards feeling refreshed. It was just then when the rain starting coming down to dampen our spirits.

It came down in sheets, pounding and slamming against the earth. Not even a drizzle to warn us. We were caught off guard. Before too long we began running across the quickly softening ground in a desperate search for somewhere to escape the storm.

Foot slipping out from under her, Faye abruptly tugs me back as she falls backwards into the mud. Within a second I pull her back onto her feet and squeeze her hand tightly.

"We're going to get through this!" I shout over the shrieking winds. "Just don't let go of my hand, okay?"

Faye nods, and through the biting cold I feel her gently squeeze back. She probably couldn't even hear me. I smile as we push on further. We're bound to find something soon. A cave or another ice cavern, there'll be somewhere we can spend the day. This hurricane of a storm looks like it isn't going to tide over anytime soon. It will probably go on all day.

I try as hard as I can to be thankful; to appreciate that this is _all _that they're doing to us today. Rain is easy to endure, mutated animals aren't. And while the rain may have already soaked through my jacket and made the thin cotton shirt stick to my skin, it sure as hell beats dying.

This is what I tell myself anyway. Every now and again I find myself questioning if living through this is really going to be worth it.

"_Don't lose yourself, Ferroh._"

Ashen's words drift into my mind, causing a rush of guilt to surface again. This is what she meant by those vague words, isn't it? Not to forget my drive to live in the midst of all the panic. At least, I think that's what she meant. To be honest it's hard to really understand. It was so long ago, now that I think about it. I was reaped almost two weeks ago…

That sunny day seems so distant now. I barely remember it. There was Galaxy, sobbing and wailing up there on stage, and our escort Peach was reaching into the reaping ball- and the crowd of people standing around me as I pulled that boy back and volunteered. If I hadn't volunteered, what would have happened? Her brother looked like he was going to. Or maybe he would have lost his nerve and someone completely new was going to be reaped. There is a chance that a stranger would be in my shoes right now, stumbling through the pounding rain.

Or, maybe that stranger would have already died by now. And Faye-Anna as well.

The thought of this thin little child dying causes a strange surge of anguish to fill my stomach. After spending a week with Faye the thought of losing her is terrifying. She isn't exactly reliable, but she's dependable enough to keep me from feeling more scared than I already am. If she were to suddenly die…

Without meaning for it to happen, my mind paints a picture. Blood clotting in the corners of her thin, pale lips. Eyes, bulged and reddened, _roll _backwards into her skull. A pair of unknown hands tightens around her fragile little throat and begins to choke her, their thumbs pushing hard into her windpipe-

"F-Ferroh-!"

Faye has somehow surpassed me and tugs frantically at her hand trapped inside mine. I guess my mental imagery made me stop moving without realising. Through the darkness and the rain I see her dark blue eyes stare frantically back at me, wondering why we've stopped moving. The mental picture of her cold little body, strangled of all life hasn't fully faded from view yet. I can't help but stare at her with this feeling of dread rippling throughout my veins. Just how easy would it be for her to die and for this choking feeling in my gut to become permanent?

"Ferroh…? The young girl's face flickers with concern. "…Ferroh, is something wrong…?"

Feeling sickened, my hand twinges a little as I release my grip on her hand. I keep forgetting that she's so fragile. Or perhaps I'm just underestimating my own strength.

"It's-"

A monstrous clash of thunder silences me. Faye-Anna lets out a shriek and flings her hands over her head, visibly shaking in terror. I squint a little into the darkness ahead and feel a noticeable change in the wind. This storm is getting fiercer… and too dangerous to walk about in. As I pause to listen through the screaming winds and the pounding rain, I smell something I hadn't noticed before.

"…smoke?"

My hushed voice disappears under the blare of the storm, but Faye too seems to notice the odd smell as well; perking up like a startled rabbit. We catch each other's eye and just stare at one another for a few moments before a loud crackling noise suddenly comes from above, followed by the familiar sound of something falling.

As if in slow motion, I look up to see the glowing embers of the burning giant setting sail into the storm. As lightning flashes again I can see that the bolt that struck has ripped almost halfway down the hundred foot tree- only stopping about forty feet above us- and the entire thing is starting to split in half.

We've got to get moving. My hand shoots out and grabs Faye-Anna's hand, which she had thrown out to grab my own, and just as we begin to run forwards there's an enormous _crack_, and an incredible burst of white light. Suddenly I'm thrown backwards with such force that I slam painfully against the burning tree and Faye-Anna is sent rolling into the mud. I choke as all the air in my lungs comes whooshing out from the impact.

I can't breathe. My ears are ringing as if someone has smashed a pair of cymbals over my head. What's going on? What the hell was-?

Faye is flailing frantically about on the ground. I press myself harder against the tree as I watch her rolling about in pain. Her forehead is bleeding. She hit something when she hit the ground, a root or something. Her mouth is open and she's screaming, but my ears are ringing so bad that I can't hear the storm raging all around us, let alone her shrieks.

"FAYE!" I shout, but I can't hear the words leave my mouth. "FAYE-!"

More blinding light and another wave of this unknown force slams me hard against the burning tree again. I can suddenly smell fire all around. The blaze has lit up the forest. Faye continues to roll about on the floor like a wounded animal, covering herself in blood and muck, and I don't budge from where I stand. What's going on? I look up at the sky, panicked. What the hell is this-? Is this one of the Gamemaker's tricks? Is this-?

It doesn't make any sense to me as the entire world begins to quake around me. I stumble forwards, and as I look down at the crying Faye, about to reach forwards for her, I feel my entire body seize and the dagger sears hot against my leg.

And the whole world turns a burning white.

* * *

_Brandit Gailer; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 6._

This is the worst! The winds are so strong that it's impossible to see two feet in front of me, and the ground is so slick with mud that these stupid boots can't get any traction. It's like walking on ice. It doesn't help that Natalia is shouting something over the howl of the wind and I can't hear a damn word that she's saying.

We should've known this would happen if we left the cornucopia. Of _course _the game makers would chose now of all times to hit us with this otherworldly storm! They're nice and snug watching us struggle not to fall down in the mud and drown in this torrential rain of theirs. Bastards. Bastards!

"—Brandit—!

Lightning flashes and illuminates Natalia's startled features. It takes a second or two before the thunder booms, sounding much too like the death cannon for my taste. I remember when we learned about the speed of sound that for every second after the lightning passes, the lightning is almost a quarter of a mile away. I can't remember the exact numbers. Right now though, it feels like the lightning is right behind us, chasing us through the forest of the giant trees.

Knowing how the Gamemakers like to operate, it damn well could be chasing us.

Another flicker of lightning lights up the ground, and I barely have time to stop Natalia as she almost topples over into a tree root. "Natalia, watch it!"

I barely catch the curse word she hisses when her boot clips hard against the elevated root as I pull her back a step. Even with our night-vision glasses on it's almost impossible to manoeuvre through the weaving forest due to the ferocity of this storm.  
We should turn back. Head back to the cornucopia and wait this out. It's obviously a Gamemaker's trap, luring the foolhardier tributes into danger while they can't see where they're going. And because of Natalia's insistence to keep moving, we're playing right into it.

Yeah, I get that these this is a Hunger Game and that we're supposed to kill tributes to go home. That much I can accept, because those same tributes are going to do all they can to have us killed. Being a pacifist won't get anyone anywhere except six feet under. But that doesn't mean we should make it easy for them by falling for cheap ploys to weed out the stupider competitors.

And yet, Natalia insists we keep moving. I knew she was determined, but this is getting to a point where it's just stubborn. We need to head back and rethink this. We aren't even tracking anyone; we're just wandering aimlessly about!

"Natalia!" I call out desperately over the gale. "NATALIA!"

She doesn't hear me. Her hair is whipping about her face which has an expression I can only describe as disgust. That look makes me hesitate in asking her to turn back. It really looks as if there is nothing I could say or do to change this girl's mind in her decision to blindly chase after the ones who crossed her.  
I told her how I let Vinel go of my own accord, and I half-expected her to physically attack me for allowing him to leave without a fight. It was a surprise when she simply shrugged.

"_I suppose it's better that way,_" she had said with a sigh. "_At least this way he'll lead us to his beloved sector partner._"

That was it. No screaming, no cursing, no stamping of feet. I was almost disappointed. I have a feeling Natalia would throw a cute tantrum. It was at that point I began thinking that I might be a masochist, and I volunteered for the games and partnered up with Natalia not to better myself, but because I found some sort of pleasure in being abused.

Heh, I wonder what she would say if I told her those thoughts. Maybe she'd indulge me by slapping me hard across the face. Although, the thought of that isn't really that appealing, so perhaps I'm not as masochistic as I thought. I'm certainly not enjoying this rain anyway.

More lightning crackles and spits in the sky, lighting the clouds up like fireworks. The rain continues to pound down upon us like the fists of the storm. I continue to stumble along after Natalia, deciding that she couldn't hear me even if I could talk any sense into her, when suddenly I smack right into the girl who has taken an abrupt stop. I stagger back a little, about to ask her what the matter is, when I feel the unexpected sensation of lone raindrops trickling down my neck and not the constant stream of rainwater.

We've stumbled under a rock crag. It's shielding us from the rain and wind of the storm. Now that I've noticed this, I can even hear things a little better now that we're out of the din.

"What a relief," I say as I sweep the soaking hair off my forehead. "I thought I was drowning."

Behind her night-vision goggles I see her eyes narrow. "This is pointless. We're never going to find anyone in this storm. Everyone else' has probably had the common sense to take cover by now."

I just love the way she puts emphasis on 'everyone else', like it was my choice to set off in the first place. Maybe I'll get to see one of those adorable tantrums sooner than I expected.

"Well, we've taken cover." I gesture at the rock formation that is jutting out of the ground and over our heads. "So, will we stay here until the storm lets up and then head back?"

Natalia is in the midst of pulling off her goggles when she hears this and looks at me sternly.

"Head back? Why would we head back after coming all this way?" Her eyes stare blankly at me. "We haven't finished what we set out to do yet."

It takes a lot of self-control not to groan openly at her.

"No, we haven't, but this just isn't tactical," I explain wearily, pulling off my own goggles. "I don't know how to track people, and I'm going to take a blind stab in the dark and say that you don't have a clue how either."

She's cussing me out in her head right now, I bet.

"The cornucopia is the central point of the entire arena. Everyone will head back there eventually. That's where feasts are held, after all. So it's just logical that we remain in that area so when the tributes start returning we have the… the home-field advantage," I finish, grinning weakly. "What's there to gain stumbling about in the rain except hypothermia?"

All I want right now is to see that stubborn expression fade into the usual passive stare as Natalia agrees to go back with me. While everything I said was true, I'm not letting her on about the things that are bothering me the most- the fear that we actually will run into one of her targets. The worry that follows that we just aren't strong enough to take on her sector partner and his allies. The constant, crippling terror that just one false move will kill us both.

But I won't tell her that. I don't want to destroy the honourable image I've built up in front of this girl. The picture of a man who can protect her, no matter what hell is thrown our way. So I'll hide behind these excuses and call them 'common-sense' so as not to trouble her.

And as her face falls, I feel my heart swell with hope as she pushes her hand through her sopping wet hair.

"…yeah… yeah… you're right…" Her voice is just a tired mumble. "It isn't… _sensible_… to be wandering around… stupid…"

As I watch her, I feel that happy feeling in my chest plummet into despair as her lip trembles and her eyes threaten to cry.

"N-Natalia?" I reach out and take hold of her, panicked. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say you were being stupid or anything, I just- uh- please don't cry-"

"I'm not crying," she mumbles sourly. "It's just the rain... I'd never cry over an idiot like you."

Such blatant lies. I do my best not to smile. She's cute when she tries to be so tough when it's obvious she's not normally such a cold person.

"Of course you aren't crying," I laugh, retracting my arm from her shoulder. "Forgive me for being so stupid."

She opens her mouth to respond- no doubt with an incredibly witty and biting retort- but her eyes widen in shock and she moves to pass me. I step aside in surprise and turn to see what could have caught her attention- when I see her grabbing something out of the air and ripping away a tiny silver parachute.

-it's a sponsor item!

I clamber close to her as she kneels to the ground and unwraps her gift, a little thankful for our cramped shelter. I watch as her shaking hands rip off the thin paper that wraps it, and unveils a small, blue coloured dagger. I feel a little confused- why would they send a weapon, something we have plenty of- but when Natalia holds it aloft and pulls on her goggles, I hear her breathing grow shallow as her fingers run over an engraving along the blade.

Watching, it all begins to make sense. This isn't just a regular sponsor item. This is a gift. A gift from someone very precious to her.

Only the rain and our silence surround us as Natalia sits and stares at her little blue dagger.

"…I think… I think it's from my brother..."

Quietly, I reach out and touch her hand. It's quivering as it continues to finger the marks I can't quite make out.

"…what does it say?" I murmur.

Natalia just stares at the delicately crafted weapon.

"Love," Her voice is no higher than a whisper. "It just says _love_."

Love. Of all things to send a person in an arena filled with murder. Of all things to send to a girl who has been fuelled by her hatred of the other tributes, her brother sends her a dagger called 'love'.

We sit there, staring at the dagger named 'love' until we just can't keep our eyes open anymore.

* * *

_Ari Saint-Claire; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 5._

Compared to today's never-ending squall, yesterday seems otherworldly in terms of tranquillity. I find myself daydreaming about the pleasantness of the sun's warmth and how nice it felt to be dry as we struggle to keep moving blindly through this intense rain and the thick mud swelling over our boots.

Laco's hand squeezes mine, his fingers interlocked with my own. In the dark caused by the black clouds blocking out the sun it's impossible to see him, but with his hand holding my own I can at least be sure that he's there. It's a small comfort in this hell of freezing rain and wind that stings my skin.  
I knew that the Gamemakers wouldn't let us rest for long. I had wasted all of yesterday's peace fretting about how they were going to strike. A horrible creature? An ambush of other tributes? It's sort of a relief that they just chose to sic this torrential weather on us. As soon as we find some shelter we'll be fine.

_If_ we find shelter I suppose I should be saying, but at the moment I'm filled with a wonderful sense of optimism. After all, yesterday we received more gifts then I had ever previously anticipated.

We were exhausted, Laco being emotionally so and me… well, I've never really been at the stage where I was thirsting for my own saliva before. As hard as I tried to keep pushing myself onwards, it became too hard just to drag my feet another step. It wasn't long before we came to a halt and I just shrank down to the ground and begged Laco to let me sleep.

But just as I closed my eyes, Laco began shaking me awake. He was babbling about more 'gifts', and before I even knew what he was saying- he had thrust the canister of water- still with its parachute attached-to my mouth and was urging me to drink.  
I almost made myself sick from guzzling too much of it down so quickly. Laco only had a mouthful before putting the cap back, and just as we were going to sit and celebrate our good fortune, _more _began to fall.

Our good fortune was unbelievable. We received not only the water, but a bottle of vitamin supplements, a metal thermos with a clip filled with a really thick liquid drink that smells of peanut butter, and a handful of protein bars. They all came drifting down out of the forest ceiling one by one, like gifts from heaven. By the time night fell and we watched the face of the Sector 4 boy in the sky our stomachs were full and I was beginning to feel better for the first time since before the arena.

That's why yesterday was so nice, compared to now. We spent it sharing sips from the thermos- the thick concoction turned out to be some sort of smoothie- and eating two of the protein bars. For a moment I completely forgot where we were. It was almost like a picnic.

Of course, I remembered our reality all too soon, and the disappointment was intense. Every now and then I find myself wishing that there was a loophole that would let us both win if we survive to the end.

I probably wouldn't have been so desperate if I had known it would have rained this much today. It was sort of a pain to wake up to the rain pounding down on us like that. We quickly scooped up our new things- Laco took it upon himself to carry the thermos and the canteen by attaching it to his belt with its clip, and folded the soaking sleeping bag up and zipped it up under his jacket- and I continued to carry the bow and arrows and the three remaining protein bars and the vitamins.

Both of us have been blessed by the sponsors in all this. I guess it's only natural, given that I had a fan base before any of this. Part of me wonders how many people are on the other side of the spectrum, wishing me dead because they hated me as a singer. Perhaps these gifts aren't for me after all, and they're all for Laco.  
Thinking this doesn't make me feel sad, but rather relieved. I do hope they like him. He's been so good through this nightmare, and I feel like that should be rewarded for his kindness. He deserves these gifts more than I do.

As I muse this, I give his hand a gentle squeeze. I'll try to reward him later, somehow.

Suddenly Laco stops. I pause, wincing as I feel a fierce gush of wind chill my soaking wet skin, and wait to see what the problem is. But my eyes slowly begin to see through the haze of the wind and rain to what Laco fixated on, and I too feel my eyes widen in surprise.

It's the golden lake. We've somehow made our way back without meaning to. The waters are being fiercely thrown about in the gusts of wind, and it's hard to recognise this raging body of water from the serene pool it used to be. It's almost as if it's an entirely new place.  
Regardless, it's still useless. There's no real shelter to be found here and it's not even a usable water source. We should turn around and find somewhere else to wait out the storm.

Yet, as I tug on Laco's arm, he doesn't move. Suddenly he grips me by the arm and pushes me behind him. Instinctively I flatten myself against him, feeling his warmth emanating through his sodden wet clothes, and I hear him murmur-

"_Get ready to run_."

Eh? I try to peer past his ear to see what it could possibly be, but I can't see anything out there except the lake thrashing about in the storm. What has Laco seen to have made him-?

I barely see the girl throw her arm back as she releases the string before Laco throws both of us to the dirt.

* * *

_Laco Sykora; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 5._

No. Not now. Not here. We aren't ready for a fight in this weather. I scramble upright and snap my attention to the frightening looking girl as she grabs another arrow from her quiver and goes to shoot again. There's barely any time to dodge. I grab Ari's arm and yank her upright, feeling a surge of guilt as she cries out in pain. I must have pulled too hard. But there's no time to fret over things like that.

My face feels like it's turned to stone. This girl has attacked us. She has the intention of killing us. Of killing Ari. Right now, she has absolutely no qualms about murdering us.

That means she shouldn't have a problem with me retaliating in kind.

In murdering _her_.

Throwing Ari against the nearest tree and praying that she knows to stay out of the way, I dive to the side as the girl's next arrow flies into the darkness where we just stood. A clash of lightning cheers her efforts and I recognise her as the girl from Sector 4. The engaged one. Yeah, yeah it's her- there's the ring on her finger. She's screaming something through the howling wind, but I can't hear anything.

I have no weapons. The bow is with Ari and our slingshot is laughably weak. My only choice is to smash her face in the old fashioned way. With my fists.

Sector 4 girl strings another arrow, but the wind is so strong that it's clear she can't shoot on target. I'm struggling through the mud towards her but it's so thick that if I try to move faster than a walk my legs threaten to slip out from under me. She's not fixed on me, but rather on where Ari and I had been standing, but as I begin to near her she jumps backwards into the shallows of the lake and shrieks before throwing her hands over her head. I think that she's finally noticed me until I see the silver fly through the air and disappear into the water.

Ari has opened fire. My attention whips back to her and I can see her, swinging her arm back and pulling another arrow from the quiver. More lightning shows that she too is shouting something inaudible. I'm in awe for a moment- surprised to finally see her in a fighting stance- but then I feel something hard smack into the side of my head and I'm brought reeling back, spinning around to see that the girl has indeed noticed me.

Up close she looks horrifying. Her face is sallow, bruised and worn. This isn't her first fight. There's dirt and grime from trying to survive in this arena, somehow unaffected by the rain that's streaming down on us. Her eyes are absolutely crazed as she abandons the idea of shooting arrows in the gale and instead resorts to holding her bow like some sort of club. I throw my arms up just in time to bear the brunt of another attack, but the force of it sends me splashing down into the water. This girl is strong. It's going to take more than one well-placed punch to bring this bitch down.

As much as I want to lose control and scream and howl at our attacker, I don't want to get any of this water in my mouth. There's no telling if it's poisoned or not, but there's no sign of it burning my skin, so it's safe for the moment. I throw my shoulder into her leg before she has the chance to swing down at me again. The force causes her leg to jerk about in surprise and she drops the bow into the water. She fumbles blindly for it for a second before giving up and smacking her hand against my face, clawing her nails into my hair.

"BASTARD-! BASTARD-!"

I feel her rip out a fistful of hair and it stings like nothing else. I leap forwards and head-butt her, causing her to fall backwards into the water. She's submerged for a second but comes up gasping for air seconds later. I anticipate her to hit me again- waiting for her to get near so I can slam my fist into her nose- but she doesn't go to hit me. Instead she leaps forwards and- with all the force she can muster- shoves my head under the water.

The shock causes me to expel all my air before my head even hits the dirt bottom. It's shallow and I can feel my hands breaking the surface, but my head isn't coming up. Her knee pushes itself between my legs.

_FUCK_.

Pain surges throughout my lower abdomen and I intake automatically, the golden water flooding my lungs. I try to grab for the area- to push her the hell away- but my mind is burning with the agony and I want to curl up until the throbbing subsides. Her hands are shaking as they continue to hold me steadily underwater, but no matter how hard I hit she doesn't move. She pushes her knee even further into my balls and I choke back even more water.

_This is… how it's going to end…?_

My strength is disappearing fast. I need air. I need to throw up this water. The pain has become too intense to stand. My hand sinks through the water and I feel something cold and hard touch my fingers.

_A stick?_

Just as I wrap my fingers around it, her hands release me and I burst out of the water heaving. I catch a glimpse of Ari, and I'm momentarily stunned as I see her push the arrowhead into the girl's arm with her own hand. They're both shouting and screaming so loudly that they're even drowning out the storm. It isn't until the thunder roars again that I regain my senses and push myself forwards through the pain-

"DIE-!"

With one arm I push Ari aside and out of her reach, and with the other I bring the stick swinging towards our attacker. Only it isn't until her screams elevate into a high-pitched shriek that I realise that this isn't a stick at all.

It's a sword.

And I've just cut off this girl's left forearm.

The effect is horrifying. More blood than what came out of me comes surging out of the stump and there are stray strands of fleshy matter- stringy bits of veins- that are still wrapped around the dirty sword's blade. The girl's eyes and mouth are wide open in a mix of horror and intense agony, and the handless stump flails about frantically as if she's trying to discern whether it's real or not. It is real. Her forearm and her hand have disappeared into the thrashing golden waves of the lake and her entire body begins to convulse.

"GOD! GOD-!"

I grip the sword hard and stagger back out of her range, but the girl isn't attacking me. Throwing her arm into the water she begins to search frantically for her limb, her face visibly twisting and gaping in pain as her bloodied limb also thrashes blindly for its hand.

"MY RING! MY RING-!"

For a second I'm swayed- almost pitying this girl for being so deranged that she is more distressed to lose her engagement ring than her own arm- but I prepare to swing again. This time I'll finish it. I'll cut off her head. I'll-

"LACO!"

Suddenly I'm tugged backwards, and as I stumble out of the water I see Ari screaming in panic. I stare wildly back at the girl in the water, still thrashing about looking for her lost ring, and I have no idea why Ari stopped me from killing her. The sword is still clasped tightly in my hand, the girl's blood still seeping down its surface along with the rainwater.

"RUN! LACO! RUN- WE HAVE TO RUN-!"

But as we stumble towards the safety of the forest line I finally see what Ari was screaming about, and I almost drop the sword in shock as I watch the insane girl from Sector 4 slowly cease her search to look up in terror. Her mouth opens into a scream no one will ever hear as it sinks its giant fanged maw over her upper body and rips it clean from her legs.

The lake is home to a giant golden sea-serpent. A legless dragon with eyes as big windows. I watch in alarm as the beast swallows her down whole, its humongous feathered-tail whipping about gleefully in its golden home's waters.

My legs give out beneath me.

* * *

_Diego "D"; 18 years; the Capitol Sector 8._

Outside of our cave the storm continues to roar and howl. The wind whistles down the entrance and sends a slight chill into the pitch black cavern's depths, but is otherwise unable to reach our group of six.

"It's really coming down out there," Montserrat's murmurs inside the darkness to my left.

Marshall grunts in agreement. "Seems worse than the last one."

When it rained on the second day, a full week ago, it was light and easy to escape by sheltering in the roots of the arena's trees. This rain is far more vicious; pounding and sweeping away at the earth as the wind screeches and claws through the arena.  
The moment it started to really come down the six of us retreated into our ice cave. The winds drove us to hide deeper inside the cavern, and while we may be cold- we are at least safe and dry from the ferocious weather raging outside.

I reach out and feel around for Koriana, breathing a sigh of relief when my fingers find her hair. Montserrat insisted I lay her body down rather than force it to remain upright as I have the past few days. His words saddened me. In my desperation to keep her safe, I had forgotten about her safety. Surely it would not be wise to keep a comatose girl in a seated position when she should be lying down.  
I relinquished. With the help of Francesca's flashlight, my 'brothers' and I made up a bed for Koriana out of blankets and a sleeping bag. Before the flashlight was switched off to preserve energy I took the liberty to brush a few strands of hair out of her eyes.

"…sleep well, Koriana."

And when the light was off and the security of the dark enshrouded us, I kissed her softly upon her forehead.

Wake up soon, Koriana.

"I always liked the rain," Holland says suddenly, sounding thoughtful. "Being all wrapped up and warm inside… I always thought it sounded peaceful. Especially at night."

Somewhere in the dark, Francesca screws up her face. "Oh, I hated rain! All it ever did was ruin my weekends and make hours of getting ready a complete waste."

"It's called a weather forecast," Marshall snickers. "It's what you're supposed check before you make plans. I always liked the rain. It meant I didn't have to do any stupid yard work."

It is hard to imagine Marshall doing yard work, tending to flowerbeds or pulling out weeds. I smile slightly as I can imagine the boy feeling right at home on the top of a large ride-on lawn mower.

"I didn't mind rain," says Montserrat quietly. "But my sister hated it. Especially thunderstorms, she'd insist on sleeping on my bedroom floor. I guess because of that I grew to dislike rain and thunderstorms."

"Eresenda?" Marshall asks, a suspicious tone flavouring his voice.

"Surprisingly, no. Dolca." Montserrat laughs. "Eresenda and Elisenda would pull on their rain coats and go run about in the rain. They loved it."

There is silence for a moment, and as my eyes adjust to the light levels I can see several pairs of eyes trained on me. Only then do I realise that it is now my turn to share my opinion on the subject.

"…I suppose I do not like rain," I come out with after a short pause, a little confused. "…my house was not very well constructed and… the rain would leak onto my bed. Electrical storms would turn off the power. It was always frustrating."

Francesca lets out a little noise of confusion. "…your house sounds sort of… bad, Diego."

"He lived on the outskirts," Montserrat interjects suddenly. I feel a hand on my shoulder. "You know how it is there."

Her silence confirms that she does. It is surprising how others react to the position of my home barely within the Capitol's borders. Being a citizen in the outskirts is about as close as one can be to being a citizen of a District. You are poor, dirty and sub-quality. It is a rare thing for children to live in the outskirts. I have heard many times they are planning to 'relocate' residents there somewhere else and will then proceed to demolish the slum.  
It never happens. The outskirts are there for the Capitol citizens who are unwanted but have not done anything that would warrant execution or avoxing.

A place to keep people out of the way. Out of sight, out of mind.

Someone starts to speak but suddenly falls silent. Then, in a quiet voice filled with shame, Montserrat mutters-

"…I was about to suggest you come live with me, if your house is so crummy..."

Even though he's embarrassed for offering something that I could never take him up on, Marshall lets out a shout, "Oi, even if it's just hypothetical- I want to live with you too man! Why don't you offer me a room?"

A little feminine giggle escapes Francesca, and Montserrat lets out a little huff of amusement.

"Alright, fine," he chuckles. "You can come live with us too. In my hypothetical house."

"And we'll visit on weekends," Francesca pipes up, nudging Holland in the side. "Because we'll throw _extravagant _dinner parties that Holland will ruin by vomiting up his wine."

"H-Hey, that's-!" Holland stammers frantically.

The cavern is filled with the sound of laughter. Montserrat animatedly describes the decorum of our 'hypothetical' house- complete with mailbox with the monogram 'Casa de Marsh-iego-rat'- while Francesca squeals with delight over the idea of buying the three of us matching aprons. Even Holland begins to laugh quietly as Marshall bursts into tears of laughter while elaborately describing how he would steal his family's furniture in order to furnish our 'Casa'.

But, as the laughter begins to fade, all we are left with is a deep melancholy. We are dreaming of a future we can never share, and a home filled with fun and laughter that can never exist. The five of us sit and stare into the dark as the rain continues to wail and cry outside.

"…guys…?"

Montserrat's quiet voice penetrates the silence. I close my eyes as I hear him move slightly on the icy floor.

"…if… if one of you wins… I'm not going to ask you to use your winnings or anything, but… can I ask a favour…?"

Not a person speaks, and Montserrat takes a deep, shaking breath.

"…please… please take care of my family… just… just _be there_ for them. If I die… they're… they're probably going to need it..."

His voice withers, and Francesca lets out a hushed whisper-

"Yes. And if… if one of you guys win and… and I… don't… will you do the same for mine?" There is a quiet sniffle, and then she continues. "My sisters are going to blame themselves otherwise and… I really… _really _don't want that."

Marshall is quiet for a moment. "…just punch my Dad in the face for me… punch him real hard… make sure he doesn't hurt my mom or my brother and sister when I'm gone."

The sadness hangs thick in the air. I am unsure what to say. My plan to use the end of these games suddenly feels wrong in this circle of friends. Should I be the victor, I plan to end these games with my life. No victor means failure, and a rebellion. A chance at a better future.

…but no guarantee for my friends' families. They could very well die in my rebellion.

My hand snakes its way over Koriana's.

"...Diego?"

Montserrat is awaiting my request. I do not have one ready. I have no family to protect, no friends to console. Not even a real home. All I have is what I am, and should I lose that will be all that is left of me.

With a dry mouth, my tongue begins to form the words. "…should I die… and one of you win…"

The storm outside howls against the cave, and my hand shakes as I squeeze Koriana's a little tighter than I have done before.

For the first time, an immeasurable sadness overwhelms me. That, as happy as I am to have met these people, to finally learn what it feels like to have a family, I regret that they are here at all. Suddenly my rebellion does not seem as important as the lives of those who sit beside me.

Koriana's hand burns inside of mine.

"…should you win…"

All I want now, in this moment, is to never be alone again.

Montserrat… Marshall…

The words choke themselves out.

"Please do not forget me."

* * *

_Cotton Ferier; 15 years; the Capitol Sector 11._

It hurts. Whether I walk or stay still my leg jolts and stings and _throbs_ with pain. For hours I just laid there in the dirt of the forest floor with tears in my eyes because I honestly believed that I was going to die there, just as that little monster had said I would. I passed out for a few hours. By the time I woke up my calf had become numb from the aching and, when I finally had the nerve to look at it the blood had somehow congealed over into the nastiest looking scab I had ever seen, with a muddy patch where a good deal of blood had leaked over the forest floor.

But it didn't matter. I was alive. I am alive. That's all that matters. As long as I can move- even if I have to crawl- I'll find a way to kill that bastard. Both Vince and Vinel will pay.  
I don't care if I have to cut this damn thing off just to go after them- if that's the price for revenge, so be it. It's just a leg. Take my arm as well. Take the fingers of my left hand, my right eye and all of my teeth. I'll beat them to bloodied pulps with whatever the hell I have left.

This wound is nothing. It may hurt, but it doesn't hurt enough to stop me from finishing what I've set out to do. I've watched games where victors have slaughtered others after being run through the stomach with a sword or entire limbs burned off. This much is nothing. It can all be replaced when I'm crowned the victor.

The rain has subsided a little, but only slightly. It still drips and trickles down my face and makes my hair stick to the sides of my face. I want to throw away this sodden wet jacket that no longer provides any warmth, because all it does now is weigh me down. Instead I wrap it around my leg and continue hobbling along through the slush and mud, wondering if wrapping up the wound did anything other than make me more aware of the injury.

'_Screw it. I don't care anyway._'

I feel like I'm walking in circles. The sun never rose today- the clouds no doubt blocked it out entirely- and everything looks the same no matter which way I turn; giant trees, smatterings of shrubbery here and there, and a freezing rain that never ends. It's going to be a real challenge to find that bastard and his sector partner this way. Not that I have a choice, I didn't bother with the 'tracking and hunting' station back in the training centre. Vinel didn't want to do it. So I didn't either.

God damn- _shit_-! I wish I could go back in time and crunch my fist into my stupid, naive face. Narrowing my eyes in disdain for my past actions, I wonder how things would be if I had taken things seriously from the beginning. I would no doubt have taken a swing at Natalia, after all the grief she gave me before these games even began, even if she was telling the truth about Vinel. How dare she act so high and mighty towards me? It'll be fitting to bring her down, crashing and burning.

My leg twinges as a stray branch hits the stab wound. I almost fall. A cry of pain sounds without my meaning it to, which pisses me off even more. That damn kid. I hate him as much as Natalia for what he did, pretending to be weak to ruin my chances. His words are still fresh in my head.

"_Die in the dirt like the filthy mongrel _bitch _that you are, Ferier!_" His voice was no longer soft and childish. It was hard and cruel. "_And be damn thankful for the opportunity!_"

Just another thing to be angry at my past self for; falling for Vince's charade. I shouldn't have hesitated. I'd at least be satisfied if I had killed him. Proved to the viewers that I'm not to be messed with, that I'm no longer some weak little school girl pining after a boy who dumped her.

There's a rumble of thunder in the distance, but no flash of lightning. The ground has gotten even muddier than before and is so slick that I'm starting to stumble a little. I decide to pause a moment, wait for the lightning to light my way, when I hear the thunder roar again. Only this time it sounds different. As if it's closer somehow. I come to a complete stop as I listen hard; trying to discern what is strange about this thunder…

In the darkness it rumbles again, louder this time. Like a growling dog, but deeper. I feel my body go still. The ground quakes beneath its giant paws and there's a horrible snuffling and snorting sound of this something sniffing me out in the darkness.

My breathing grows shallow as I realise that this is definitely not thunder that I'm hearing. And just as I think the words, I hear its monstrous roar.

The bear that killed Jasse is back for more.

Without even thinking about it my joints unlock and I start running. There's the sound of puddles being torn through as it tears after me, and all of my previous strength and anger disappears into terror. There's nothing I can do to kill this thing, let alone stop it! I'm going to die! This thing is going to kill me! It's a _fucking bear-!_

Suddenly my foot slips, and I shriek as I fall to the mud. Arms flailing and legs kicking, I feel my body tip head over feet forwards and my heart beat itself to a stop as the bear's roars and lumbering bounds suddenly sound like they're far above me.

I hit the ground with a crack. I'm still screaming, and I'm vaguely aware that I've landed on my shoulder and the pain is unbelievable. Everywhere my skin touches is cold and as I thrash blindly on the ice cold ground I wonder when the bear is going to dive upon me and tear me to shreds like it did Jasse.

…but nothing happens. No teeth descend upon me and no claws rip me apart. My screams become cries of pain and slowly into pitiful moans as I curl into a ball on my side. I think I've broken my shoulder. I tearfully manage to open an eye, gripping feebly to my right shoulder as it aches with pain, and as true lightning flashes I see what has happened.

Chance has tossed me into a deep hole in the ground. A cave of sorts. The bear, if I can even call this hideous hairless creature that, stares down with bulging eyes at the crack that is too thin for it to squeeze through, but more than wide enough for someone my size to trip into. It's just staring down at me. Slobber is dripping down its jaw like a mangy dog as it sticks its nose into the crevice, pawing and snuffling for me.

Breathing heavily, I stare up at the beast and wonder if it's going to keep going. Will it try and dig me out? Am I trapped here? Besides, it's too far up to climb back out anyway, even if that bear wasn't there. The only way out of here is...

Staring into the darkness, I can make out a darkness that delves deeper into the cavern. Just as I suspected, this cavern isn't just part of the scenery. This is one of the Gamemaker's tricks just like the bear and the giant trees were. An ice cavern that sprawls out below the arena, probably like the rock platforms above the arena.

I sit upright and glance at the bear, which is retracting its paw but continues to watch me carefully.

"Sorry, bear," I mutter, not feeling sorry at all. "I don't have time for you right now."

That's right. I have things to do, people to kill. Struggling a little with my right arm that hurts too much to move and my wounded leg that is now giving me grief for landing on it so hard, I begin to scrape along the icy floor towards the darkness.

Better get moving.

* * *

**PRICE INCREASE.  
**This is the second price increase. Everything now costs +4 more than it originally did.

**Capitol Question #28; what kind of weather do you dislike the most?**

**Special Event #003; which seven tributes of the original twenty-four do you feel match with which of the seven deadly sins? (**_Pride, Greed, Envy, Wrath, Lust, Gluttony and Sloth_**)**


	54. Can You Believe in This?

**A Vivid Note: **I'd like to apologise for the periods of inactivity between updates. Let it be known that I have a deadline for this story, and that deadline is June. I have every intention of having the Capitol Games finished by that time.

Thank you to all the readers who have picked this story up along the way and left me feedback, it's really been a lovely surprise to see a new reader leaving their thoughts on the story so far. I'm sorry I don't reply to reviews, but if you ever want to talk about something my inbox is always open, even if it's just a chat.

I've been receiving a lot of messages inquiring about **openings in future stories**. I'm afraid that I've filled up my tribute quota for _the Capitol Games_ series (this includes the _Vicious, Revenge, Torture _and _Revenge _games) …however, I am now considering starting a second series to run alongside the Capitol Games. Considering, since it's not the best decision since I'm already undertaking quite a bit with the Capitol Games series.

The winner of the third '**Special Event**' is announced at the bottom of this chapter. Thank you to everyone who participated, it was fun to read your interpretations!

**Capitol Question #29; if you could magically be skilled in any one aspect of your choosing what would it be? (E.g. Archery, running, climbing, punching, smooth-talking etc.)**

Kiss-Kiss,  
Vivid.

**The Capitol Games**

_Faye-Anna Cholores; 14 years; the Capitol Sector 6._

I feel numb. My whole body is tingling with an unfamiliar sensation, almost like it has been engulfed with hot and cold together. It's strange and frightening and makes me want to cry before I even open my eyes. What will happen when I wake up? Will something horrible be waiting for me when I open my eyes? I don't want to wake up. I don't want to see it. Can't I just keep my eyes closed and fall asleep here, forever…?

But I can't sleep. My body is sprawled out into an odd position, and it twinges and trembles in an unsettling way when I try to curl myself up onto my side. For a few minutes I simply lie still and wiggle each of my fingers and toes, one by one, just to make sure that they're all still there. Little by little the numbness subsides, and I'm left with a funny sort of buzzing rippling through my veins.  
What happened? It was raining. It was raining really, _really _hard… and Ferroh and I were running. But why were we running? My head hurts as I struggle to remember the reason. Were we being chased? I don't… no… I don't remember anyone chasing us… only all that wind and rain… and…

My eyes finally flutter open as there's a faint flashing of light inside my memory, then a strong, blinding flash of light.

_And lightning_.

We were running from the lightning. Ferroh and I, we were being chased through the forest by great bolts of _lightning_. I struggle to push myself up out of the clotting mud, my arms shaking tremendously under my weight. That's right. The lightning… the Gamemakers' lightning was attacking us, but… but I tripped. Sitting up slowly, I delicately reach up and brush my fingers across the top of my forehead, the beginning of my hairline. A painful, scabby wound throbs beneath my fingertips and I intake sharply.

"Ouch…" I wince, pulling my hand away. A smidgeon of blood stains my middle and index fingers, and I wearily rub it off on my soaking wet tribute jacket.

So I fell down and hit my head… that much I understand. But… where's Ferroh? I can feel my deadened nerves springing to life as I remember my ally. What happened to him? Where is he? I begin to look around, slowly at first, but rapidly descending into panic. He should be here. There's no way Ferroh would leave me here alone… would he? There's just no way he would do that… not after everything else we've been through together.

But that tiny little voice of paranoia begins to whisper nastily in the back of my mind-

_He could have… there's nothing stopping him, after all… leave you here… leave you to die…_

Clenching my eyes tight and fighting the aching pain in my head, I banish the little voice far away. Ferroh wouldn't leave me unless he absolutely had to. If he isn't here, he can't have gone too far.

It's still too hard to stand on my feet, so I drag myself across the forest floor in search of any sort of sign of Ferroh. The ground is still heavily carpeted by the fallen orange leaves, but it's clear to see where someone has or hasn't stood. I can make out the deep dents of my own footsteps only a few feet away from where I passed out. And there are Ferroh's! But these aren't leading away… at least I don't think they are… so where is he? He's got to still be around here… I'm just not looking hard enough…

Since the sun hasn't fully risen yet it's a little hard to see too far, but I can make out most of my surroundings as my eyes adjust the low light level. With the help of the nearby tree I manage to pull myself upright, and after a few false starts that almost end with me face down in the dirt I begin to walk. My head throbs and I feel slightly nauseated. I think I might be concussed. Clutching my head, I stagger to the next tree, and as I go to rest against it my foot nudges something heavy.

Hidden in the dark and blurred by my vision, I am not at all prepared to find my foot digging into Ferroh's side.

"A… ahhh!"

My scream is heard only by the birds nestled high above our heads. Ferroh shows no signs of movement as I drop to his side; gripping at my hair and feeling my body overcome with panic. Is he dead? Oh god, oh god- he can't be dead! My chest tightens around my heartbeat. Ferroh can't have died. There's just no way. There's no way—!

Without any of the hesitation I had when I examined his rib, I press my ear hard against his breast and stop breathing entirely. Give me a heartbeat. A sign. Something that proves you're alive, Ferroh. Please. Please give me something…

I'm trembling with fear and desperation as I press my ear as hard as I can into the folds of his soaking shirt jacket. I can't hear anything but the sound of my own heart pounding inside my eardrums. This isn't working. It's the clothes—they're in the way. Disregarding my squeamish nature, I don't waver in unzipping Ferroh's jacket and peeling it from his skin before yanking his thin tribute shirt up to his chest and then ramming my ear back against his chest.

Come on… something… something…!

Tears are starting to creep sideways from my eyes and drip onto his still body, but I don't budge out of fear of missing that tiny sign of life I'm holding out for. It's there. It has to be. He's cold but he's alive, I know it. After all, would his body have been taken away by the hovercraft if he was dead? My heartbeat relaxes a little as I think of this. That's right. They'd have taken him away. He's alive. He's alive. Ferroh-

Slowly, biting back my bottom lip as I start to cry, I pull up his sleeves and press my thumb against his wrist. The veins are strangely prominent, and when I push the pad of my thumb into them I almost jump from the amazingly strong beat that pulses through him.

A smile springs across my face even though the tears continue to fall. "You… you _are _alive—!"

Thank Heavens! I throw my arms around Ferroh and wriggle them under his back in order to hug him. I know he probably can't feel it, but I need to express this gratitude somehow. It's as I'm pressed against his cold, wet skin that I realise that I'm hugging a half-naked boy and my body reverts from being joyous straight back to alarm.

Embarrassed and wondering what my family thinks, I pull his shirt down over his stomach. "B-Better cover you up, Ferroh…"

Water welts up out of the fabric as I squeeze it. This makes me pause. There's no telling when he'll wake up; is it safe to keep him clothed in these freezing wet garments? I remember reading somewhere that doing that is dangerous. He could come down with hypothermia or something worse that I don't know about.

Blushing madly, I remain completely still as I think hard on what it is that I'm seriously considering doing.

…if… if it's to keep him from getting _sick_… I'm sure he won't mind if… if I do this…

So, with extreme caution, I begin to remove his tribute jacket.

'_Sorry for this, Ferroh! I swear I'm only doing it for your well-being and not… not any other reason!_'

* * *

_Francesca von Bardot; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 3._

Sunlight! Sun, sun— it's the sun! I'm so excited to see the brightness twinkling about the cavern when I wake up that before any of the others have even woken up I've already sprinted out of the cave's mouth and lifted my arms up in the biggest stretch I can manage.

"Ya_hoo_~!" I sing, a little louder than I probably should. "Good morning, good morning!"

Letting my arms fall back to my sides, I smile as wide as I possibly can and hope that somewhere nearby there is a camera to show Mirabelle and Charlotte that I'm alright. That last night's awful weather didn't put a damper on my spirits in the slightest. To bring it home I do a little spin on the balls of my feet before sitting down to bask in the sunlight beside our little pond of clear blue water so I can dip my toes in.

It's a really beautiful day. The sunbeams are warm, the water is cool, and the grass is so lush and soft under my back as I lay down just to enjoy the rare tranquillity of it all. I even take off my jacket and fold it under my head for a pillow. Everything is so comfortable compared to the cold insides of the caves that I find myself drifting into pleasant daydreams. Even that tiny voice of reason that feels the need to constantly remind me where I am falls silent and enjoys the peace.

Minutes pass with nothing but the sounds of the trickling water and a few singing birds far in the distance. It's so warm and cosy that I seriously consider falling asleep, only for a shadow to suddenly eclipse the sunlight and my warmth to be stolen. I feel a chill run through my arms as something soft brushes against my forehead.

A leaf? I go to swat it away with the back of my hand, but my hand connects with something that feels nothing at all like one. Startled, the foreign object yelps.

"A-Ah, Chess! I thought you were–"

Opening one eye, I'm a little surprised to see Holland stumbling back a step and waving his arms frantically at me. I swing upright and twist around to face him, smiling a dopey grin at my alarmed friend.

"When did you wake up?" I ask cheerfully, amused that he's suddenly become so ruffled.

Holland covers his eyes with his hand as he slowly begins to calm down. "You… you woke me up when you left… I just uh… didn't want to disturb whatever you were doing…"

Ah. He thought I had run off to pee. No wonder he's so embarrassed. I try to look appreciative but I'm positive that he can see right through my polite little smile and see that I'm giggling like mad on the inside. He knows me too well. I'd like to think that I know him well too, but there's so much doubt in him that I guess I probably don't.  
Oh well. I'm comfortable enough with what I do know about him. He crouches down beside me and stares down at the little pool of water, and I turn to watch him as his face relaxes into a happy expression. The sunlight reflecting on the water causes a nice effect across Holland as if he were underwater.

This is a nice moment. I grin a little and playfully nudge Holland with my shoulder. He's confused for a split second before he smiles as well and gently pushes his shoulder against mine.

"I like it here," I say, looking at him for a moment before going back to gazing at the water. "It sure beats wandering about through the forest or those ice caves."

Laughing awkwardly, Holland nods once in agreement. "Yeah, it's much nicer here… you know, for… for _here_."

For an arena, I think he means.

Silence settles down on us as we simply sit together, side by side. Suddenly the sense of peace I was enjoying is back, only this time I'm no longer alone in appreciating it. Having Holland beside me somehow makes everything so much nicer, even when it shouldn't be. Even when we were struggling through those ice caves with Kori' supported between us he still managed to make it feel like fun rather than a chore.

I do wish we had our cannon though. I purse my lips a little as I think of our baby made of welded steel. Maybe we could convince everyone to head back through the caves once Kori' is better. I'm sure they won't mind since it's only natural to move camps now and then to be safe.

Studying my no-doubt vacant, wistful expression, Holland tilts his head with confusion. "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing," I say automatically. Holland looks a little dejected at my blank answer, so I give him a weedy smile. "…our cannon."

Hearing the word 'cannon' makes Holland's eyes widen in surprise. He no doubt had forgotten all about it. All too quickly his body tenses and he sucks in his bottom lip as he begins to worry about our little power house.

"Right, I—uh—forgot about… the cannon…" His eyes dart about his outstretched feet so not to look me in the eye. "…can't we just… forget about that thing?"

The sheer level of disappointment I feel is astronomical. Holland almost throws himself backwards from the appalled expression I give him.

"Well, it's n-not like we can even get it right now!" He explains hurriedly, waving his hands about as if they illustrate his point. "A-and what would we even use it for? There's nothing here that can't be t-taken down with swords or, or something—!"

I don't even bother to pretend that I'm listening. I scoot forwards towards him with such intensity that he falls onto his back and just shrinks into the ground as I hover above him with my nose almost touching his.

"Holland," I scold, pointing my index finger against his chest. "That cannon is important to 's a precious symbol of our supporters! We can't just ditch it because it's too heavy and inconvenient. Would you ditch me if I was heavy and inconvenient?"

My friend and Sector partner doesn't budge. In fact, he doesn't even breathe. His eyes are fixed on mine and his mouth is slightly ajar. Narrowing my eyes and fighting back a smile, I raise my voice and repeat myself.

"Would you ditch me if I was heavy and inconvenient?"

"Never."

Surprised, I relax my accusing finger as Holland stares at me with an uncharacteristic certainty. I wasn't expecting him to answer with a 'maybe' or anything, but I wasn't really counting on Holland suddenly looking so serious about it.  
Still, it's a welcome surprise. My mouth curls into a smile. He's really changed from the downtrodden boy who confided his worries in me back on the chariot.

Although, there's one thing that still bothers me about what he said. Just as Holland begins to smile, I push him back down again. Before he has the chance to struggle- not that he seems to be doing much struggling- I jam my finger back against his nose.

"Why didn't you deny that I was heavy?"

The terrified look on his face is absolutely priceless. All of his courage from before drains out of his face and he's left with nothing but a flapping mouth trying to apologise. I'm enjoying the moment, but suddenly Holland's eyes light up with surprise.

"Chess! Up there-!"

Tilting my head upwards to where Holland is now pointing, I see them.

Sponsor items.

* * *

_Holland Wickbird; 16 years; the Capitol Sector 3._

Ten days in, and we're still getting sponsor items! This is so much more than I could have ever expected. Chess scrambles off me and stands upright, reaching her arms up to catch whatever it is that's slowly making its way down towards us. I sit up and watch as what initially looked like a small sponsor gift grows larger and larger as it descends. By the time it reaches Chess' outstretched arms it proves to be a bulky backpack as big as her torso.

"What is this?" Chess asks curiously, pulling the large shimmering parachute from the bag. "It's really heavy…"

As I pick up the parachute and begin folding it—it might be useful later— she turns the pack around in her hands to inspect it. Her mouth opens in a little 'o' of surprise, and before I ask her what it is that's puzzled her she shows me a little embroidered patch on the arm of the bag that shows a rectangular looking number eight.

My hopes sink through my stomach. So it's not meant for us, it's for Diego or Koriana. Judging on their current states of health, probably Diego. For a moment there I thought this was a gift for Chess and I, but I guess we've already been sent our extravagant gift… in the form of a bulky cannon too hard to move.

Thinking about the cannon makes my face feel hot as I remember what Chess and I were just doing. She was on top of me with her face barely inches from my own. I was so nervous I thought I was going to vomit again, or at least spew out everything I've been feeling these past few days. Since my talk with Marshall I've been thinking a lot on this friendship between Chess and I, and how I'm beginning to realise that I feel so much more towards her than just… 'Friendship'.

But I don't want to tell her. As Chess tells me to wait here while she gets Diego I know that I couldn't say anything like that. These are the Hunger Games and if I said something stupid like 'I think I'm in love with you' it might… it might cause trouble for her.

So I swallow my feelings again, and decide to be content with what we already have. I'm lucky enough to be friends with such a wonderful, beautiful girl; I don't need to ruin that. This much is enough.

At least that's what I'm going to keep telling myself.

"See? It's right there!"

Francesca bounds out of the cave with all the energy of a firecracker as a very groggy looking Montserrat staggers after her. Diego mustn't have wanted to leave Koriana's side. Chess picks up the bag and graciously hands it over to Montserrat, who takes it with a strangely puzzled expression. Guess he wasn't expecting any more sponsor gifts either.

"We best take a look." Montserrat kneels down and unzips the first of three pockets that make up the middle section of the pack. "Let's see what we have here…"

With meticulous care, Montserrat begins to unpack the bag onto the dirt in front of us. The back pocket houses three neatly folded blankets and a rectangular piece of foam, most likely to be used as a pillow. The middle pocket has spare shirts and socks, and beneath it has a pair of boots obviously sized for Diego's large-set feet. There's also a pair of goggles- the ones that enable night vision- and a nose plug for swimming. Then there's the third pocket that has a tent kit, an empty canteen of water and a tiny box of biscuits.

But it's the front pocket that really surprises us. It can be entirely unattached from the bag and become a little pouch all on its own. Opening it up reveals a cruel looking knife with a serrated edge, a lighter, a coiled length of copper wire, a shiny compass, a whistle and a circular metal object all neatly arranged inside. We're all so surprised at the contents that no one speaks. We just sit there, marvelling at this extravagant gift meant for Diego.

It's hard not to feel jealous of Diego's sponsors; they've really gone all out for him. Completely above and beyond. This pack alone has everything a tribute could ever possibly need. It must have cost an absolute fortune to send. Enough to buy a house. That's how much he's worth to them.

A tiny little voice inside me thinks, _how much am I worth?_

Montserrat reattaches the front pocket full of treasures to the bag and stands up. Thanking us for being outside to receive the gift- who knows what might have happened if it fell down with no one to claim it- he takes it back into the cave and says that he'll be back out shortly. It'll be time for breakfast soon and they'll be refilling the canteens. After spending all night in the ice cavern with the rain screaming outside it's really hard to blame any of us for wanting to enjoy the sun while it lasts. While we can.

Just as Montserrat has disappeared inside of the cave and I'm ready to sit back down again I hear Chess give a little shout of surprise. I spin around, alarmed and thinking the worst- only to hear-

"Another one! It's another one!"

My jaw falls open. This time it's me twisting my neck skywards and reaching up to grab a hold of whatever is coming down. Is this one for us? Chess is hugging me from behind and still points up at it, this little tiny silver dot that doesn't really get that much bigger as it drifts down to meet us. The moment it's within my reach I manage to catch the little box, but Chess steals it away and goes to unwrap it.

I practically screech as I rip the half-opened box from her hands. "Chess! You can't just open it up!"

The cute little sour expression of hers is back. She wants to open this one, even if it isn't for us. Perhaps she would've if it wasn't for me being here to tell her not to. With a big sigh that she's clearly putting on to let me know I'm being no fun, she hands over the box and gives me a little smile to show that she won't hold it against me.

"Thanks," I murmur, a little embarrassed at my outburst. "Let's go tell the others and—"

Whatever I am saying is interrupted as the shouting starts. I almost drop the box when I hear the sound of a girl shrieking inside the cave. Screaming out someone's name, as the guys come piling out of the cave with supplies and the still unconscious Koriana slung over their shoulders.

"_VINEL!_"

* * *

_Natalia Marinos; 17 years; the Capitol Sector 2._

I really underestimated how quickly Brandit and I were going to blow through our water supply. We've only been out here a few days and we only have a mouthful each left in our canteens. I want to kick myself for being so wasteful. If only we had thought to use that horrible rain to refill the bottles instead of just falling asleep!

Brandit sighs loudly next to me. "Natalia, you really need to stop making that noise."

"What noise?" I ask, feeling offended. "I'm not making any noise!"

"Yes you are," he says dully. "You keep wheezing. If you're tired we can take a break?"

It isn't until he points it out that I notice that I've been huffing and puffing with every step that I take. I'm so embarrassed that I stop breathing entirely for a moment and, after a moment, inhale as deeply as possible. This is humiliating. Here I am, constantly wanting to look strong, and I'm panting out loud like some worn out mongrel. God.

"You know, it's not a sin to get tired," Brandit says with a weary smile. "If you keep this up-"

I tune out before Brandit embarks on his sure to be pointless lecture. I'm well aware that I don't have to push myself this hard. I'm doing this because if I don't I'll regret it if I die. I'll blame myself for not doing everything I could.  
So I can't take a break. Not now. Not ever. Not unless I want to die with more regrets than I already have.

"—and I thought you agreed yesterday that going back was the best option?" Brandit stops me by grasping my shoulder. "Did you forget?"

Cringing at the memory, I quietly wish that I hadn't agreed yesterday. Or that Brandit at least had the courtesy to forget I had agreed.

"I didn't… _forget_," I mutter quietly, avoiding Brandit's stare. "I just… I changed my mind, okay? I don't want to go back to the cornucopia, I want to keep moving. I want to find those idiots and-"

"And what?" Brandit's smile slips from his face. "Do you really think you're going to be able to kill them when you're like this?"

Hearing him say that ticks me off, and I don't even bother hiding the fact I'm annoyed. With a sudden sweeping motion I push Brandit's hand off my shoulder and step away from him, wanting as much distance as possible between us.

"Like _this_?" I repeat coldly, narrowing my eyes. "Can I ask what you mean by that, exactly?"

Rather than backpedal as fast as possible from his careless statement as I had expected him to, Brandit's now free hands clench and unclench as he surveys me with a surprisingly stern expression.

"Natalia, you barely have the strength to walk." His voice is hard and cold. "Do you really believe that you have the power to fight? To kill?"

"Yes, I do actually!" I try not to snap, but it's a force of habit to get angry when I'm being called weak. "What, do you want me to prove it? Want me to demonstrate on you or something?"

This is his chance to save himself a lot of pain. I'm giving him an opportunity to stop belittling me and let us get moving again. I stand and wait for his sheepish smile to return or for a look of alarm to quickly retake his features- but I don't at all expect the scowl that appears instead.

With his legs slightly parted, fully prepared for a blow, Brandit clenches his fists. "Try me."

…is he joking? I do my best not to gawk at him and hold his stare. A chill runs up my spine and makes its home at the back of my neck as I try and size up if he's being serious or not. Is Brandit challenging me? Is he goading me into hitting him so he can kill me? Or is he just convinced that I won't have the guts to hit him, thereby admitting defeat?

Whatever the reason, my anger quickly replaces my surprise and builds quickly into fury.

Okay. I'll call his bluff. I'll smash that stupid look right off his face if that's what it takes to keep moving-!

The second I leap towards him I realise that this is the first time I've fought since I attacked Cotton. Brandit doesn't dodge me, instead catching me by the shoulders and flinging me aside like a child discarding a doll. I drop to one knee, barely avoiding the fall. Suddenly I realise that Brandit isn't looking to hurt me, he's just looking to show that I can't bring him down.

My resolve to punch this idiot in the face burns stronger.

"Do you think I won't hit you—?" I hiss through my teeth as I lunge again.

Jumping aside this time, Brandit narrows his eyes as he crouches slightly, awaiting my next move. "It's not that I think you wouldn't. For you just hitting someone is fine."

As he says this, his body suddenly twists to face me. Before I can even try and guess what his intentions are- his clenched fist comes lashing out of nowhere and cracks hard against the same cheek Marshall hit during the bloodbath.

'_—just hitting someone—_"

He doubles back as I hunch over. Shock seizes each of my limbs as I try and register what happened. Brandit just punched me. _Brandit _just _punched _me. I glance up at him whilst clutching at the side of my bruised face as it throbs and aches, feeling oddly terrified at the boy who looms over me, fists still at the ready.

"You… you seriously just…?" I can barely form the words. "Did you just _punch _me?"

Brandit's severe expression hardens. "If it's alright for you to punch me, why shouldn't it be alright for me to punch _you_?"

For a second I want to blurt out 'because you're a _boy_', when I realise how ridiculous that sounds. I've been punched by a boy before. By my brother, and by Marshall. But this is different. Nate would punch me in play. Marshall was trying to hurt me. What is Brandit trying to accomplish by hitting me?

"Natalia, I know you can't kill anyone. And by that I don't mean that you're too weak to kill a person."

Kneeling down in front of me, Brandit gently raises his fist and taps it against my nose as I continue to stare blankly at him. Slowly, his apologetic smile forms across his lips once more.

"I mean that you aren't willing to kill them. You just aren't prepared to murder someone," he says, unfurling his fist and placing his palm against my forehead. "Just hitting them is fine. Cutting them is fine. But killing them isn't."

_You're wrong_, I want to say, _I can kill them. I can kill them all. I could kill you._

But instead, I feel my cheek sting as the tears begin to trickle out of my eyes.

"I…" My body trembles. I break eye-contact and stare at our boots. At the dirt. "…I…"

I haven't killed anyone. I've had the chance, and I couldn't do it. With Jason, and with Cotton. I had them there, but something in me held me back. Something jammed and my whole body would stop moving. So Brandit finished off Jason, and Brandit chased off Cotton.

Brandit is the one who has done everything. Right from the very beginning, he's the one who has done everything. I have done nothing.

And the realisation makes me feel so hollow that I want to scream.

"Bran… Brandit…?"

No more than a whisper, but he can hear me. The pad of his thumb touches upon one of the embedded gems in my cheek in response. He's always listening. I swallow the lump in my throat as more tears creep down my burning cheeks.

"...what am I going to do… when we're finally in a situation where it's… where it's kill or be killed…?"

Without any real reason to, Brandit laughs quietly.

"You're going to live."

There's the slightest of pauses. Then-

"Because I would kill the whole lot of them for you."

* * *

_Montserrat Saint-Phillipe; 18 years; the Capitol Sector 9._

Cotton Ferier; the girl from Sector 11. Just like the rest of us it looks like she's seen better days. She comes crawling out of the mouth of the ice cave we were just taking shelter in, dragging along not only a beat-up leg but what looks like a broken arm. Breathing hard and heavy, Cotton stares about with manic eyes for the one she's looking for. She screamed out 'Vinel'- the name of the last tribute who died- almost like it was a battle-cry. It's hard to tell if she's screaming for him or _to_ him.

Not that it matters. The second we make it to where the trees meet our ice cave's clearing we're preparing ourselves for the inevitable fight that we've all been waiting to present itself. Diego takes Koriana, still wrapped up in her sleeping bag, and hides her amongst the tree roots while dumping his new pack behind him as if it was worth nothing in comparison. Marshall practically tears his way through two of the four duffle bags, emerging only when his knuckle dusters- still dirty with the blood of Natalia's cheek from our first day- are fitted snugly over his fingers again.

"Let's take her down now," he spits, narrowing his eyes with intense dislike. "Before the bitch gets the chance to try anything."

Diego throws his arm in front of Marshall and quickly shakes his head. "Do not be rash. We have no idea how dangerous this girl might be."

Marshall relents and backs away a step, but his fists are still raised and clenched tight. It's clear to see that he's desperate to do away with this girl as quickly as possible. For the first time I find myself agreeing more with his reasoning than Diego's. Regardless of her allegiance now, she was part of Natalia's career group. That alone certifies that this battered girl is trouble.

Something hard is pushed into my hand, and I'm surprised to find the handle of Diego's brand new knife being pressed there. Diego looks at me with that intense stare that says he knows what he's doing, and I don't question it. I could never question it. I grip the handle and feel a familiar surge of power ebb through me as my fingers curl around my new weapon.

Alright.

I'm ready.

Turning, I watch as Cotton steadies herself on her feet, saliva dripping from her gaping mouth as she heaves out of exhaustion. She truly looks mad. Cotton wipes the drool away with the back of her hand and flicks it somewhere to the ground. She doesn't give a shit about appearances right now. Her wild mismatched eyes finally find where we stand and, her entire body rising up like an angry snake; she lets out an ear-piercing shriek.

"WHERE _IS HE_?"

I wonder for a moment if this is the first time I've heard Cotton speak, when I realise that her voice has changed dramatically since I last heard her speak during the interviews. Her young, feminine voice that spoke lovingly of her family has fallen into the harsh, cold tone now harassing us. Everything about her has changed, and whoever she was before is long gone.

Bristling with irritation, Cotton strides forwards past the pond towards us and shouts again. "Vinel! Where is he? Where the_ fuck _is Vinel?"

There's no beating around the bush with this girl; it's clear that she's not looking to make friends. Cotton steps forward again and reaches over her shoulder for what must be her weapon, and that's finally when Diego stands out of Marshall's way. I catch his eye before he kneels down and picks up the lance he took from the cornucopia. He's ready for the worst. She's ready to fight us, so he's willing to fight back. We all are.

But it's the only one of us who isn't armed that responds first. Francesca, shielded only by a horrified looking Holland gripping to an unused knife, watches Cotton with what looks like pity.

"Vinel is dead," she says slowly, her hands clutching Holland's sleeves. "He died. He died two days ago. We saw his face up there."

Feebly, Francesca points to the sky with a trembling hand. Cotton's rasping comes to a sudden stop and, as if trying to discern whether or not Francesca is making it up, she looks up at the forest canopy and stares blankly. She opens and closes her eyes, and for a moment it's like she's seeing something she wishes would go away. Cotton's entire body begins to shake.

"…you're lying…" Her voice cracks as her eyes open and close a few more times. "You're lying, you're lying, you're lying, you're lying, you're lying—"

"We're _not lying!_" Marshall shouts, interrupting her muttering. "So hurry up and scurry back to tell Marinos the bad news, or else the next face in the sky is going to be yours."

Freezing at the mention of Natalia's name, Cotton slowly looks at Marshall. Then, like remembering something long repressed, a scowl spreads across her face.

"So, this is where you've been hiding?" Cotton hisses, gripping the hollowed out stick she had slung over her back. "Seriously? For all this time… while everyone else out there is fighting… and dying… and _struggling _just to keep going… what are you lot doing…? You're all just sitting around having some _damn picnic?_"

With a shriek of frustration, Cotton digs deep into her pocket and brings out a metal object and wedges it in the top end of the tube. Suddenly realising what it is that she's holding, Diego, Marshall and I lunge forwards as she screams again-

"THESE ARE THE HUNGER GAMES—!"

It's Marshall who reaches her first. He strikes his fist so hard into Cotton's eye that she is sent flying back a foot that she barely remains on her feet. Her injured leg buckles slightly under her, but as Diego swings the sharp end of the lance at her knees she does the impossible and jumps clear of the swing. Staggering back, she struggles to keep herself upright as she runs as fast as she can towards Holland and Francesca, her blow-gun readied again-

"—SO STOP DAMN PRETENDING THAT YOU ALL LOVE EACH OTHER!"

Ducking and running, Cotton skids to a brief stop as Holland waves his knife out at arm's length towards her. With a burst of laughter, she rams forwards and knocks the boy onto his ass, but the second she's doubled back to move again Francesca has thrown herself on top of her and the two disappear a whirlwind of hair and fists.

"Chess!" Holland throws himself forward, trying to pry his friend free of Cotton's thrashing. "You- you- GET AWAY FROM CHESS-!"

And, as Cotton pins down Francesca with a triumphant grin on her face, Holland swings his knife down hard into the Sector 11 girl's shoulder blade. Yelping, the girl snaps backwards- the knife still embedded deep into her shoulder- and shoves Holland away from her. He tumbles backwards, and Chess protectively pushes herself on top of him, flattening him against the ground and out of Cotton's sight. There's no point though, Cotton has something worse to deal with now.

Now that Diego's found her.

Her legs sprawled out beneath her, shivering and shaking in pain, Cotton barely has time to look up when Diego's lance comes thrusting down through her stomach. Everyone stops breathing as Diego's grip tightens around the staff, eyes contorting with anger as the girl stares up at him in horror and disbelief. Even I stop dead in my tracks behind him as I watch Cotton's mouth open and close noiselessly.

'Is this really happening?' her face asks. 'Did you just…?'

Answering her unasked question, Diego suddenly rips the jagged blade from the teenage girl's stomach, pulling along with it a length of fleshy viscera caught on the lance's head.

Her silence finally breaks into a series of blood curdling screams. No words are made, just unintelligible shrieks of pain as she thrashes about in intense agony. With each jerk her guts are pulled tauter against the spear head. Diego takes a step back as Cotton's body quickly begins to convulse even harder, and suddenly she rolls onto her back and wedges Holland's knife in deeper. A gurgling noise spews up out of Cotton's mouth along with a fountain of vomit; stomach fluid, spit and blood splatter down her chin and across the forest floor.

Through the girl's inhuman cries of distress, Marshall grips his forehead and stares down at the bloodied mess that is now her stomach. "…fuck."

That one word sums up everything I'm feeling right now. It sums it all up. _Fuck. _The expression on all our faces as we remember exactly where we are and what is happening to us. Cotton may not have been right about us not caring about one another, but she was telling the truth about the reality of the situation. This is no picnic. This is an arena.

And these are the Hunger Games.

Cotton's hands try to push her intestines back into her stomach, but it just seems to be instinct. Her head is tilted all the way back as she curls onto her side in the pool of her own vomit and blood, but her eyes are wide and full of tears. Slowly her mouth opens and closes, but no sound is made but a quiet, pitiful whimpering.

_Fuck._

"Finish it, Diego." I murmur, unable to continue watching the once strong girl deteriorate into this writhing being on the ground before me. "Just… just end it."

Stiffening his jaw, Diego gives the slightest nod and readies the lance again. It's bloody and covered in the grime of Cotton's guts. But as he raises it above her, Cotton suddenly cries out- throwing her free arm out to hold him at bay.

"W-WAIT!"

Surprised, Diego pauses. Cotton continues to heave on the ground, the fingers of her left hand digging into her stomach as blood continues to seep through her tribute jacket and collect in the dirt around her. With extreme difficulty, she looks up at Diego. Her eyes, both blue and green, focus on Diego through the tears and- opening her mouth once more- she spits out the words-

"…I'll… I'll see to it that you all… that you all _burn in hell_…!"

Teeth bared and face screwed up in agony, Cotton forces a terrible smile that hides her fear. Diego, calm as ever, lifts his lance up once more.

"I'll try not to disappoint you."

And he jams it through her throat, grimacing as Cotton's cannon booms. A few seconds of ringing silence passes before Francesca suddenly screams in agony and buries her face deep into Holland's shoulder. Marshall drops to his knees and digs his hands into the blood-soaked dirt, hiding his face from us all behind his fringe.

But it's Diego I watch. His face is stony and unmoving, but his eyes are filled with remorse. He didn't want this. His hands are still curled around the weapon, and from the way he's holding so tightly I don't think he's able to let go.

Slowly, I reach forwards and place my hand on his. I gently pull his fingers free of the lance's rod and place his hand back at his side, but my hand lingers there. Should I hold his hand? Unsure, but not willing to leave him be, I rest my hand upon his shoulder.

"…thank you, Diego," is all I can say. "…you… you did what you had to do, man."

His throat clenches a little. Then, as if to say thank you, he nods.

Nothing else is heard but the sound of Francesca's crying as blood continues to bubble and dribble out of Cotton's body and into the dirt beneath our feet.

…even… even if we're going to hell for this…

…I don't regret… being by his side.

_Whether you believe it or not, Cotton, this love is real._

* * *

_Vince Pace; 12 years; the Capitol Sector 11._

Another day and yet another cannon has gone off. I wonder for a split second which tribute it might have been, but it doesn't take long before the curiosity wears thin. It doesn't matter who died; it just means there's less people for me to kill. Whether that's a blessing or a shame I can't really decide.

It's a blessing if it was someone I might have had trouble dealing with; one of the larger male tributes, for instance. It's a shame if it was a weakling that I could've added to my tally of kill. I remember watching the recaps back home during the previous Hunger Games. Next to my name there'll be '2', unless Laco or Cotton, someone I have injured directly, has died without my knowing- and then there'll be a crisp little number '3' after my name.

I can't help but wonder if another tribute has surpassed my kill count. It'd be easily done, since it's impossible to tell how tributes die without witnessing it firsthand. The thought of coming second to some second-rate tribute makes me feel a little irritated. It's a pity I wasn't able to finish off the Capitol's songbird and her dog while I had the chance.  
Still, there's plenty of time to make up for lost time. The game is still quite young, after all.

The ground has basically transformed into a marsh from the intensity and amount of yesterday's storm. I didn't move much at all yesterday, particularly because I was certain that doing so would be a mistake. Extreme weather conditions may seem like enough of a trick in itself, but they're always used to hide something else. A mutated animal or some sort of 'event' like the ground opening up and swallowing several tributes. Those sorts of things always happen when the tributes let down their guard.

But I refuse to be that careless. Tricking District children year after year like that is standard, but it'd be unacceptable for a tribute from the Capitol- someone who has no doubt watched years of Hunger Games, and should therefore _know _better- to be so stupid. If that weren't the case, there'd be no point in differentiating between Capitolites and District children then, would there?

_'That's right_,' I think, glancing up at the midday sun spilling through the tree tops. '_Right from the beginning, we've been given an advantage. And yet, no one else seems to be taking it…_'

All of them are ridiculously stupid, making the same mistakes that have been made every single year before us. Tripping off a starting plate, falling for a fake alliance, silly romances that'll never become real and simple tricks such as an innocent child hiding his true intentions. They're all such standard tricks! I won't be surprised at all if the 'career' group turns on one another in some second coming of the bloodbath.

They're all weak; too ignorant to use their heads and avoid repeating the failures of the Districts' games. I realised it when I ran into Cotton, how even though she somehow managed to survive this long into the games- she was still too stupid not to let her feelings cloud her judgement. Even though anger and rage can be useful at times, it's no good if a person makes such silly mistakes like underestimating their opponent.

Well, no good for _them_.

Remembering the horrified look on my sector partner's face makes me bristle with excitement. Did she die? Oh, I hope she died. Covered in dirt and blood with tears streaming down her face. Just like Sapphire did, the blood pumping out of her neck like a broken pipe. Or Liotta-

"_Vince… I…_"

"U-ugh-!"

Gripping my head, I clench my eyes shut as a sudden throb of pain tears through my skull. A flicker of blue and gold ripples in my mind, and suddenly I'm overwhelmed by the memory of Liotta on the night of the party, shyly watching me from my side. More scattered memories follow her in quick succession, and not just Liotta- but Lily. Smiling and giggling and batting their eyelashes-

_Shit. Shit- shit- shit-!_

I cringe as the blonde haired girls and their deep blue eyes fill my head. Without thinking-_ unable _to think- I shake my head frantically to rid myself of their ghosts. Why is this happening now? I don't give a shit about Lily or Liotta. They have no place in my victory, and no place in my head—!

Opening my eyes, my throat clenches itself shut as I see it, and my mind is wiped clean of the pair of golden haired girls disappear as quickly as they appeared.

It's the dome of roses.

_I'm back where I started. _

Stumbling back a step, I contemplate turning and running until I realise the dead silence in the air around me. There is no sound of voices, whispering or crackling of thorns under foot. This is no doubt where the cornucopia is, and the clear choice for a camp. So shouldn't there be someone here to protect their camp?

With great care not to make any noise, I edge towards the thick wall of vines and thorns and listen as hard as I can for any sign of life. When nothing answers, I decide to risk it. Pulling out my knife, I wedge it under a particularly thick rose vine and begin sawing upwards.

'_Didn't think I'd be back here so soon.'_

How many people were cut on their escape from the 'bloodbath'? I managed to break through with minimal scratches, but there were others who pulled these things apart with their bare hands. And then there was one who couldn't escape at all-

Before I can think of Liotta any further I stop myself and focus harder at the task at hand. If I'm right about this, there could be supplies in there, ripe for the taking. There's no time to waste thinking about past kills when there are future wins to plot.

As the fattest vine splits over my knife, the tinier ones are easier to wedge apart with my sleeved arms. A few thorns still manage to puncture through and claw at my forearms, but I ease myself through with no problems. And once I'm inside, I stand and stare at the glorious sight that greets me.

The cornucopia, no longer as glistening clean as it was the last I saw it, is still full of crates and supplies. I can see weapons; swords, lances, spears and more, and even barrels of apples and tankards of water. It has obviously been picked at- everything has been rearranged to someone else's liking- but there's so much left that whoever left it behind is either confident no one will be able to take their supply cache or incredibly, _unbelievably _stupid.

For a moment I consider booby traps. I walk closer to a starting plate and eye it suspiciously. There was once a game where these were dug up and rigged as make-shift land mines. But that was by a boy from District 3 who had experience with such things, not by a pack of idiot girls and guys who don't know their asses from their elbows.

Sure enough, the cornucopia poses no threat to me as I approach it. My hand shakes as I reach for a sword, wondering if this is actually real or just another cruel delusion of the mind. But, _yes_, my hand clasps over the hilt and brings the sword out of its barrel, and a great rush of adrenaline courses through me. I grip it tightly, bringing it in close to me as I greedily look over the rest of the cornucopia.

It's all mine for the taking. Just thinking it sends a wonderful chill of pleasure down my spine.

There's no reason to dwell on the past and those kills.

Because there are about to be _so many more. _

* * *

**Capitol Question #29; if you could magically be skilled in any one aspect of your choosing what would it be? (E.g. Archery, running, climbing, smooth-talking etc.)**

The winner of **Special Event #003****; ****which**** seven tributes of the original twenty-four do you feel match with which of the seven deadly sins? **is _Europa22_, for their answer of- "Pride – Natalia, Greed – Ari, Envy – Cotton, Wrath – Vince, Lust – Vinel, Gluttony – Galaxy and Sloth – Marshall."


End file.
